


Permutations of Fate

by hpjk_addict



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, J2, Jensen-centric, M/M, Prostitute Jensen, Regency Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-01-30 20:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 58,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpjk_addict/pseuds/hpjk_addict
Summary: England1814Jensen Ackles, 25, was the happiest and the luckiest man in the whole of the kingdom. He had just returned from his travels with the oldest and dearest friend, he was but a fortnight away from marrying the woman of his dreams and in due course he was to inherit a large estate and even a larger fortune. Truly, he could wish for nothing more. Fate was smiling graciously upon him, showering him with her blessed gifts.Or so he thought…





	1. Prologue

Hertfordshire  
1814

A tall, well-shaped figure of a young woman with a glossy mane of auburn hair, dressed, coiled and beribboned to the latest fashion, walked towards them along a curving shrubbery path with a lively gait, a wide smile and a vigorous wave.

Jensen beamed at the sight of her.

“Good God, I have almost forgotten how lovely she is,” he said in an admiring whisper to his friend, his heart skipping a beat, as they adjusted their course, hastened their step and moved forward to meet her midway. “I’m surprised she waited for me the whole time I traipsed across half of Europe with you when she could have anyone in my place. I am the luckiest man in the world.”

His friend snorted next to him. “I dare say Miss Harris’s feelings on the matter of her own good fortune are not dissimilar to yours,” he said. “After all, there isn’t a single woman – or a man for that matter – who can remain indifferent to your pretty looks. The effect wears off with time, I grant you that, but your situation in life and your fortune are not immaterial either. Apropos, surely you remember Lord O – ”

“Don’t!” Jensen flushed and turned a wide-eyed look upon his friend. “Mish, you promised never to speak of it again,” he hissed from the corner of his mouth.

“Did I? That doesn’t sound much like me. Hm! I remember you telling me that we should never speak of it again and I remember promising never to do so unless I could help it. Otherwise, I promised to tease you mercilessly on the subject and bring it up whenever I could have a nice laugh at your expense.”

Jensen glared at his friend but there was no time to argue the point for Miss Danneel Harris was upon them, her smile blinding and her gaze full of warmth and merriment as she eagerly extended her hands for him to take. “Jay, you’re a sight for sore eyes, I declare,” she said affectionately. Jensen laughed and readily grasped her hands in his.

“Count Dmitri, looking as dishevelled as ever, I see,” she said next, by way of a greeting, as she looped her arm with Jensen’s and leaned ever so slightly into his side. Her eyes were laughing as she clucked her tongue and took in his friend’s handsome but rumpled appearance. “You dress in such a careless manner one would think you cannot afford a valet. Whatever shall we do with you, sir? I simply cannot have you look like a vagabond at the forthcoming ball.”

“I will do my best not to offend you with too many of my imperfections, madam,” he said with a very proper bow and a rather mischievous grin. “However, you mustn’t expect my person to display the level of perfection you are generally accustomed to.”

He raised his eyebrows and threw a meaningful look at his friend. Danneel’s lips twitched.

“I shall temper my expectations then.”

Jensen groaned, dropping his head to his chest to hide his blush. “Good God, can you not?” he implored them with a long-suffering sigh. “I wish to heaven you would not.”

“But how can we not?” cried Misha, taking Jensen’s free arm and steering the three of them down the lane. “Even your freckles are perfect. Symmetrical too! Are they not, Miss Harris?”

Danneel nodded gravely, though her eyes were full of mirth. “Indeed, they are. But then again you should know that better than anyone, Misha. Have you not devoted many an hour to their extensive study? And have I not heard you swear many a time that you will have them counted and accounted for one of these days? By-the-by, have you made any progress at all?”

“Alas! I always get distracted by the luscious green of his eyes.”

“How are the preparations going?” interjected Jensen with a growl that reverberated deep in his throat before Misha could begin to praise the unblemished fairness of his complexion, the bewitching fullness of his lips and the extraordinary length of his eyelashes. Jensen had the misfortune of having heard it a thousand times before. He had never been more uncomfortable then when his looks were thus expounded upon; his friends, on the other hand, never failed to take pleasure at his discomfort.

“I would assume extremely well with your mother at the helm,” replied Danneel. “I stopped by to see her before coming here and she appeared perfectly happy with all the arrangements. I must say that I have attended a great number of your mother’s balls in recent years but judging by the scope of the preparations on present occasion this one will surpass them all.”

“Well, we must take into account the special nature of the occasion,” observed Misha. “I believe you will be announcing your impending nuptials then?”

Jensen and Danneel nodded in unison; their smiles wide and happy as they turned to look at one another.

Count Dmitri cleared his throat as they continued to gaze devotedly into each other’s eyes. “I believe this is my cue to bugger off,” he said good-naturedly.

“How very perceptive you are,” replied Danneel, reluctantly breaking the eye-contact and giving him the sweetest of smiles; a quizzically raised eyebrow belying its saccharine affect.

Jensen snorted.

“It is only fair,” said Dmitri with a philosophical air, inclining his head and disentangling himself from Jensen with a sigh of mock sorrow; “I have kept him away from you long enough, I suppose. I do beg pardon for that a thousand times. But he is all yours now.”

He smirked, bowed with a flourish and trotted off along the path towards the house with an exaggerated swagger, swinging his walking-stick in one hand and twirling his hat in the other. Jensen shook his head at his friend’s antics before turning his attention back to his stunning wife-to-be; contemplating, not for the first time, his excellent fortune.

He was the happiest and the luckiest man in the whole of the kingdom. He had just returned from his travels with the oldest and dearest friend, he was but a fortnight away from marrying the woman of his dreams and in due course he was to inherit a large estate and even a larger fortune. Truly, he could wish for nothing more. Fate was smiling graciously upon him, showering him with her blessed gifts.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Jensen’s brain a moment to catch up with his senses and realize that he was in fact awake. Had he not gone to bed mere seconds before? It certainly felt like it could not have been more. Staring into pitch darkness, he was attempting to fill in the blanks. His progress was excruciatingly slow. He had definitely awoken from a thud that had been loud enough to penetrate the pressing dullness of his inebriated consciousness. The amount of spirits consumed felt like a horribly bad idea now that it seemed to have permanently addled his brain. He thought about the possible source of the thud. Did Misha fell off his side of the bed again? No. That wasn’t right. They were back in England. Here decorum and discretion had to be observed at all times and sharing a bed with your friend – even in a drunken stupor – was not a good idea. Besides, he remembered now that Misha had to leave for London right after the ball.

Ah! The ball. Another thread had woven itself into an uneven cloth of his memory pertaining to the previous – his thoughts came to a confused halt – night? day? He could not quite tell. An image of Misha’s puppet-like form, his head lolling back and forth above his ruined cravat, as he was deposited headfirst into the carriage, popped into his mind and he snorted. The ball had not finished until daybreak for the two of them; by which time the carriage had already been waiting for Misha to take him away. Jensen recalled – not without a wince – that he could barely stand without draping himself around a pillar by then and as soon as his friend took leave with a loud neighing snore in place of a customary farewell, he all but crawled on all fours to his room, where he collapsed onto his bed still clothed, as far as he could tell from the suffocating pressure around his throat, chest and legs.

Jensen was thankful that Danneel had left before she could see him in such an abominable state or she would have no doubt retracted her promise to become his wife. At that another shard of a memory pierced his temple as acute as a headache but he could hardly make sense of it in his befuddled state. He and Misha had kept drinking and talking into the early hours of the morning. He vaguely remembered that something important had been discussed – but that was as far as his memory would extend. Everything else had been buried like a pirate’s treasure at the bottom of many a bottle he had imbibed in the company of his friend.

A series of muffled thuds jolted Jensen out of his reverie. Footsteps! What else? He sat bolt upright in bed. He had a sudden inkling as to what was going on, having recollected his mother telling him on the eve of the ball that she was meaning to give all their servants (but her maid and his sister’s governess) a day of rest after the ball in a generous display of goodwill and gratitude for all their hard work in the weeks leading up to the grand event. This meant, of course, that the house was quite empty and unprotected and thus a perfect target for burglars.

An oath, a scream, a series of grunts and an unmistakable sound of someone being dragged down the corridor sent him out of bed as fast as though he were a cannonball. Instantly sick, dizzy and disoriented, Jensen fell to the floor weak and shaking. Damn it all to hell! His stomach roiled as bile clogged his throat. He forced it down and pressed his temples with his hands in hopes of dispelling the pain shooting through his head like a harpoon, catching and tearing at the sensitive tissue. More thuds, grunts, screams and pleas ensued. Jensen recognized his parents’ terrified voices amidst the din – his father’s screams as high-pitched as his mother’s.

His brow coated with perspiration and his palms sweaty he scrambled to his feet, swayed, crashed into his bed, fell, crawled a short distance to the bedside cabinet, groped for a candlestick and finally lifted himself up with a mighty heave. His parents were in danger and he had to help them. What mystified him the most was why the sneak-thieves had gone for them in the first place when they could have used the fact that they were all fagged out and fast asleep in their beds after the ball to clean out the house of every single valuable thing without being discovered? Were they planning to rob and murder them into the bargain? Or, perhaps, kidnap in order to demand ransom? Jensen shook his head. He might not be in the best of shapes at present but surely he hadn’t taken lessons from Daniel Mendoza himself for nothing.

As he crept along the corridor Jensen had to admit that a single candlestick was hardly an adequate weapon against a band of housebreakers. On the other hand, the fact that he could no longer hear shrieks and thuds was a rather hopeful sign. As he descended the stairs he heard an angry hubbub of raised voices coming from the lobby. He thought that if his heart was not thumping so loudly in his ears he could even make out what they were saying. Jensen was convinced now that these were no sneak-thieves after all. He was certain that they would not stand chatting with the very people they were about to rob. Not to mention that the volume suggested a much larger crowd than a group of petty marauders. What in blazes was going on? Could it be a peasant revolt? He heard reports of failing crops and abandoned farms…

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he tiptoed towards the lobby and upon rounding the corner was startled by the sight of an honest to God mob splattered with dappled orange glow of at least half a dozen torches flickering and flaring in the dark, their elongated shadows writhing against the walls. Jensen felt his stomach drop when he saw his parents, both in their night things, kneeling before the crowd. The next moment his blood began to boil with rage. His mother looked a hair’s breadth away from fainting. His father was shaking, his hands clasped before him in supplication as he pleaded with the crowd that wouldn’t listen. Jensen tried to push his way through but they stood shoulder to shoulder, burly and solid like slabs of rock the lot of them.

“I say we pillage the place and then burn it to the ground,” said a gruff voice in the front. “Let us make an example of him! That’ll be a message all right to other gents who think it below them to honour their promises and pay their bills.”

The crowd cheered.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen,” said another voice; it was quite gravelly yet as smooth as butter and made the hairs at the nape of Jensen’s neck rise. “Let us not be so hasty, shall we?”

“Hasty? Hasn’t he just told us that he has no money to pay us with? What’s the point of waiting now that we’re here? He has been keeping us away with his promises long enough – as though those could feed and clothe our children. I say we act now and take what is rightfully ours!”

“Hear! Hear!” hollered the mob, swaying their torches like banners on the battlefield.

“My dear man – think!” continued the man with the oily voice. “How, pray, do you propose to decide who takes what precisely? I believe we should let the good public know that this gentleman here is a bankrupt and hold a public auction instead.”

“B-bankrupt?” bleated Jensen’s father, going extremely white. “Auction? W-what are you – ?”

“Auction!” interrupted the same gruff voice that had spoken before. “What good that’ll do us? We won’t get a penny’s worth out of him then. If it all goes to auction his wealthy friends will swoop down upon the place and get everything out of here for a pittance in a blink of an eye. Nay; we do it our way! We – ”

But he didn’t finish.

Mr Ackles suddenly let out a gasp like a crow and clutched at his throat; his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his whole body went rigid.

“Father!” shouted Jensen, redoubling his efforts to push his way through. “Damnation! Let me through. Let me through, you fools!”

The crowd instantly parted; their faces now terrified rather than hostile.

“Murderers! You murdered him! You all murdered him!” Mrs Ackles was shrieking at the top of her lungs, clutching her head, covered in paper curls, in utter distraction.

Jensen reached his father just as he collapsed and began to convulse in his arms.

He was having a fit.


	3. Chapter 3

The chiming of the clock announcing the lateness of the hour prompted Jensen to put away the quill and the papers he had been working on for what seemed like an eternity and lean against the back of his father’s old chair with a groan. He rubbed the back of his neck and the line of his shoulders with his ink-splattered fingers, hissing when he felt the knots of tension turn to pain he was unable to relieve despite the pressure he was exerting. His eyes itched, feeling enflamed, and he was sure that with the amount of straining and squinting he had been subjecting them to in the past few days he would be forced to procure a pair of spectacles ere long. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I can even afford them these days”, he decided bitterly as an afterthought. The lone stub of a candle stuttering in the melted puddle of wax served as a blunt reminder of his new status as a pauper.

Jensen sighed and walked towards the window. He detested sitting in one attitude and working with papers for hours on end. He detested dribble of ink on his cuffs and fingers. He would make a poor secretary, he thought, which was rather unfortunate, considering that he no longer had an estate or a fortune to inherit. He had been shut up in his father’s study, wading through papers pertaining to the failing affairs of their estate and his father’s alarming mountains of debts. Faced with the onerous task, it became startlingly obvious how very ill-prepared and ill-qualified he was for it. Apparently, his inability to conduct any sort of business was the only thing that he had inherited from his father who had not only managed to squander all their money and go into colossal debts but who had also contrived to bring a highly profitable estate to utter ruin through sheer neglect into the bargain.

Jensen knew that a public auction was their only option and yet after carefully studying the matter he feared that even the sale of all their effects would fail to liquidate the balance of their claim. His mother most unhelpfully refused to talk of the matter or acknowledge the reality of their dire financial situation, preferring to keep to her room, moaning and weeping like a ghost as she lamented her wretched fate. Loathe as he was to involve his fifteen-year-old sister in the nasty business looming before them, he was beyond grateful when Mackenzie, her governess and his mother’s companion took upon themselves the arduous task of cataloguing the items for the auction. He wished that his mother had proved just as capable upon present occasion as she was when throwing balls so lavish they were paying for them now in more than just money – but he all but despaired of it.

His father was... _not_ faring well. The physician’s prognosis was not promising. He regretfully admitted that nothing at his disposal could cure that which he could not see. It was something inside his father’s head that had been damaged – that much was clear, he said – but he knew not how to treat it. He repeatedly bled him in hopes that it would provide some relief but to no effect. Mr Ackles remained supine and unresponsive. Jensen wished there was something he could do to help but presently he could not even afford the luxury of keeping vigil at his father’s bedside – his mother defecting on that duty and feigning severe indisposition – now that he had to deal with the mess they had found themselves in.

Jensen had not been prepared to become the head of the family and have all the obligations and responsibilities of one thrust upon him in a blink of an eye. He resented it with passion tempered only by his extreme exhaustion these days. It had been his original intention to spend a few more years, abound in gaieties and diversions, in metropolis with his new wife, before being called upon to learn from his father everything that an heir had to know about the management of an estate that was to be his. It turned out that his father knew nothing of the matter himself and had rather foolishly expected the estate to run itself and continue to bring profit without his direct involvement.

However, upon the death of their old steward, who, being an old friend of his grandfather’s, had been on a most intimate footing with their family and therefore utterly devoted to the promotion and maintenance of their welfare and prosperity, his father had been duped into employing a man who turned out to be a swindler of the worst kind and who had been robbing them for years. Jensen, unfortunately, learnt of the appalling state of the affairs only after the fellow had fled the country with the last of his spoils. But devastating as that blow had proven to be, it was neither the last nor the most heartbreaking one to be dealt him.

In the days following the failed attempt to pillage and set their manor house on fire, Jensen could not think without a pang about Miss Harris and their future matrimony that for all intents and purposes was now well and truly off the table. He felt as though an invisible iron fist was trying to throttle him, squeezing his throat until he could not expel a single breath whenever his mind dwelled on her. In an attempt to shield his sister from the horrible events unfolding before their eyes, he sent a note to Miss Harris, asking her to take care of Mackenzie until things settled down and she could be brought back home. The reply came swiftly – but instead of reassurances and relief it offered pain and betrayal.

The note, written in Mr Harris’s firm hand, was informing Jensen in no uncertain terms that in the light of recent events his engagement with Miss Harris was henceforth broken off and that he was keenly advised not to contact her or her family ever again unless he wished to face retribution that would follow. The severity of shock plunged Jensen’s thoughts and emotions into chaos and confusion; his eyes refusing to believe the words he had just read. It was inconceivable to imagine that years of propinquity, companionship, friendship and deepest attachment could end in such an ignominious manner.

However, not being in a position where he could afford to spend even a second of his time on wallowing in self-pity and lamenting another terrible loss, Jensen gathered his wits about himself and spoke to Mackenzie. His sister immediately wrapped her arms around him, looked him in the eye and asked, “Did you really think for one moment that I would leave you alone at a time such as this?” Jensen blinked; before he could find anything to respond with to such a sentiment, she shook her head and buried her face on his chest, whereupon he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held on tight.

Jensen yawned and decided that he had stayed up long enough; it was time to call it a night. He could no longer make head or tail of anything, besieged as he was by little yet highly aggravating aches and pains attacking different parts of his body. Besides, he was supposed to have an important meeting on the morrow and therefore needed to look his best despite the fact that he had never felt worse in the course of his entire life.

He was walking along the corridor towards his room, a dying stub of a candle his only light, which, if anything, prevented him from seeing bare walls and carpet-less floors, when his mother’s faint voice reached his ear, sounding as eerily and hollow as though she was calling all the way from beyond the grave.

“Mother?” he asked, brushing off the queer sensation and checking his irritation at her dramatic rendition of his name. He retraced his steps and stopped in front of her ghostly form, arrayed in a white night dress, her hair for once let down about her in long corn-coloured strands. He thought it looked uncombed and dishevelled and wondered with another jolt of irritation whether she had spent the whole day in bed. “Is there anything that you need?”

“Jensen,” she said and he noticed that her voice was already far from that faint moan that she used when calling out to him. “I think it is time we faced the horrible truth. Your father is unlikely to make a recovery, full or otherwise. His days are numbered.”

Jensen’s eyes widened at her bluntness; he instantly shook his head to deny it. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t. He might… He might yet…. Mrs Ferris is taking very good care of him; she hopes that he might yet gain all his faculties back – with time. However, I’m sure that his recovery would proceed at a much faster pace were you to spend some of your time by his side.” He tried to keep a civil tongue, purging his voice of reproach and accusation, but his mother’s negligent and even callous treatment of his father’s perilous state shocked and aggrieved him. It was almost as though she didn’t care. But that couldn’t be right, could it? He just had to try again. “Mother – ”

“Mrs Ferris is my companion and a fool,” snapped his mother; “she is not, however, a doctor. She clearly doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Your father’s life is ebbing away. It is as plain as day for everyone with eyes and enough common sense to see. His end is nigh. You must prepare yourself.”

Jensen bristled. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “What is the point?”

“The point? Jensen, don’t be such a simpleton! With your father gone, we must think about our future!”

“Father is not gone yet,” pointed out Jensen through gritted teeth. “And apropos our future, what do you imagine I have been doing these past few days?”

He could not believe it! His mother was talking about future that she and his father have effectively succeeded in robbing him and his sister of!

“Frankly, I have no idea what you have been doing shut up in your father’s study. However, I’m sure that whatever it is, it won’t save us from complete and utter ruin. Your father certainly failed to do anything about it and you would be surprised to hear how many an hour he used to spend there.”

Jensen checked another flare of temper and asked in a deliberately calm manner, “What would you suggest I should do then?”

“I would assume something you should have done a long time ago. In fact, I am mightily surprised it never occurred to you.” Mrs Ackles gave her son an appraising look as though she had begun to doubt the strength of his intellectual abilities. “You must write to your uncle, of course. He must be informed of what has befallen us as well as be made aware that we expect his immediate assistance in our present plight,” she said loftily.

Jensen’s eyebrows shot upwards. “My – my uncle?” he nearly stuttered. “But mother! Father would never – ”

“Must I remind you that your father is in no position to hold grudges and expect us to follow his dictums now that he is bedridden and incapacitated? I’m sure you understand. In any case, I am your mother and you will do as I bid you!”

“I will do it the first thing in the morning then,” said Jensen with a bow that hid his troubled countenance.

“That you will!” cried his mother and promptly shut the door in his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen stared at the blank piece of paper before him, not knowing where to begin. He hadn’t seen his uncle in ten years at least and considering that his father and he hadn’t parted friends he knew not whether he had any moral right to expect him to assist them now that they had hit rock bottom. His father had forbidden to mention his uncle’s name and Jensen knew that he would be appalled to learn that he was writing to him now. It didn’t help matters that Jensen never knew what had caused the rift between the two brothers in the first place.

However, he could not recollect without former tenderness how much he was fond of his uncle in the past. He knew that his uncle had been likewise fond of him and at length decided to start the letter by reminding him of those happy times and many hours that they would spend in each other’s company when he was still a constant guest in their house. It was his uncle who taught him to ride, to hunt, to shoot, to box and even to dance. Jensen wondered if his father’s extreme animosity towards his younger brother was, perhaps, the direct result of their intimacy and attachment.

In many ways his uncle played the part of his father to him, while his own parent was more often than not engaged elsewhere. Jensen vaguely remembered the night his father ordered his uncle to be gone and never to darken their doorstep again. His uncle came home quite drunk and stumbled into Jensen’s room by mistake. He fell asleep in Jensen’s bed, wrapped around him, after having giggled himself silly over his error – but when Jensen woke up and came down to breakfast the next morning his uncle had already gone. He had not seen him since.

The last he heard was that his uncle had inherited a title and a fortune from his grandfather and that he was now styled as Sir Jeffrey, Lord Morgan.

Jensen took the letter to the post-office himself, no longer having a servant to spare for such a simple errand. Their household staff had been reduced to their most loyal servants they would unfortunately have to part with for good once the estate was sold. Upon his return, he took a small repast down in the kitchen with his sister and then proceeded back to his father’s study where he now awaited upon a man he had never met in his life but who had insisted upon seeing him when he stopped by to leave his card the other day. Jensen had not the foggiest idea what possible business he could want with him now that he was destitute but figured that he was not in a position to ignore any calls these days.

Jensen felt too nervous to sit behind the desk, which led him to maintain an upright position behind it as he riffled through mountains of papers he was heartily sick and tired of. He had never conducted any business affairs before and knew not how to behave himself other than to appear perfectly composed and aloof as befitted a gentleman. The man he was expecting was not a gentleman, this much he knew, which meant that the superiority of position in society was on his side. On the other hand, the man could be as rich as Croesus, which would put him at a distinct disadvantage in his dealings with him.

Whether he’d been too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the sound of the door opening and closing or the man could actually walk through walls without making a sound, Jensen failed to notice when he entered the study until he was startled into raising his head and dropping the papers he was holding by a voice that sent shivers down his back.

“Hello, darling.”

It was the same voice that had insisted on the auction to be held on the night his father had a fit: rough in texture but smooth in delivery. Jensen stared, momentarily lost for words. What was one expected to reply to such an inappropriate greeting? The man smirked at his confusion, his expression unbearably smug, and without being properly invited proceeded further into the room. He wasn’t a tall man – not nearly as tall as Jensen – but he had a presence about him that told Jensen to be on his guard. Hence, he closely watched his progress. The guest certainly took his time as he regarded the scope of the room, studying every item his eye fell upon with a shrewd and practiced look of a professional appraiser. Jensen had a sudden inkling who he was dealing with and barely managed to contain a shiver of revulsion that coursed through him at the revelation. He felt like one of the items on display when the man fixed his gaze upon him next.

Up and down his eyes roamed, lingering on every part of his body. Jensen was not a stranger to lingering looks of admiration and even lust. He wasn’t vain about his own appearance but he knew that other people found him pleasing; both men and women often stared at him in fascination. However, this man’s look was of a different nature. He was looking at him in a calculating manner, cataloguing his every feature, as though pondering how much he would fetch. Jensen felt like cattle on a market day. Any moment now the stranger would circle the desk, slap his flank and pronounce him a fine stallion, quite worth the price. The permanently smug look he was wearing was creeping under Jensen’s skin, making him want to put on another layer of clothes and wondering, though it was quite ridiculous, whether he had forgotten to put on his breeches. He did not dare to look down and check, of course, knowing that lowering his gaze now would be a show of weakness.

“Mr Sheppard, I presume?” he murmured as evenly as he could under the intense scrutiny. “Would you like to take a seat?”

“I would like to make a deal.”

Jensen blinked, taken aback by his unusual directness. He hadn’t expected that. The man wished to cut straight to the chase. Not a gentleman, he reminded himself.

“I believe making a deal presumes some form of bargaining,” he pointed out. “But you must be aware that I have nothing to bargain with.”

“Hem. Hem. Hem. I beg to differ,” replied Mr Sheppard, his eyes going up and down the length of Jensen’s body again, their expression both appraising and lewd.

Jensen felt heat creep all the way up to the top of his head; a muscle in his jaw twitched; he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

“Perhaps, you know something that I don’t?” he asked coldly. “In this case I must invite you to enlighten me.”

The man bowed his head, his smirk firmly in place.

“I don't know if you are aware that I am in charge of the public auction at which your estate will be sold.”

Jensen nodded but didn’t reply. He didn’t think it would be polite to say that he wasn’t surprised to hear that piece of intelligence and that he had pretty much figured it out by his manner of looking about him.

“I do not imagine that you wish to see it all go away,” the man continued, spreading his hands to indicate the room first and then the grounds beyond.

“I do not imagine that anyone ever does.”

Mr Sheppard nodded.

“I can help you there,” he said, leering. “It is quite in my power to provide you with the necessary sum to cover all of your father’s debts.”

Jensen narrowed his eyes. He did not believe him for a second. He could, however, play along.

“And what do I have to do in return?” he asked mockingly. “Sell my soul?”

The other man chuckled.

“No, darling. Not your soul. Just your body.”

Jensen stared at a portly, self-satisfied man in front of him for the longest of time; he expected him to start laughing at his own jest any moment now, until it finally dawned on him –

“You are in earnest… Good God, you are!” Jensen shook his head in horrified disbelief. “This cannot be happening,” he muttered under his breath. “I must be having a nightmare. I must.”

“Don’t play coy, darling,” continued his guest with the same complacent expression upon his crumpled and unshaven face. “I’m sure you have been propositioned to before. I mean to say – look at you – as pretty as you are! Who could possibly resist the temptation of getting a taste of so much perfection before them? I dare say, even an angel – ”

Jensen’s heartbeat sped up. He glared at the man, his face flushed and his fisted hands shaking. “I do not understand what you’re implying, sir. I have never been – ”

Mr Sheppard waved away his platitudes with a bored gesture of his hand.

“Think! Once everything you own is sold, what prospects precisely will you have, considering that your engagement with Miss Harris has been called off?”

“A man can always learn a profession,” replied Jensen promptly; the mention of his broken off engagement smarted like a thousand prickles to his heart. “I will have some prospects before me. I could join the arm or the navy.”

“Joining either presumes money and connections. Pray, how should you afford a commission?”

“I have an uncle. He is an earl. He could be of assistance in procuring one for me.”

“But why bother?” cried Mr Sheppard; in growing excitement his voice cracked like a piece of glass under the heel of a boot. “What I offer you is a life free of all worries – a life of luxury – an establishment! If you come with me, you will want for nothing. Your family will want for nothing. I will take care of everything. I will shower you with – ”

“Good God, stop!” exclaimed Jensen, gripping the edge of the desk for support. “I do not intend to accept your depraved proposition for there is nothing on earth you could possibly offer me that would induce me to do so. What you offer is a life of unnatural sin, disgrace and debasement. I am not going to become your paramour or concubine or whatever the term is these days just because I have found myself in dire straits.” Jensen shook his head, his upper lip curling in disgust. “I was not aware that a gentleman – even without a fortune – was so constrained in his choice of profession and honourable employment that he could be expected to bow to the ignominy of bending over for the first bidder.”

“Well, well, well!” drawled the man, taken a step back and looking positively smug. “If I had known that you were looking for the highest bidder before coming hither, I would have naturally – ”

“Get out of my house!” snarled Jensen. “This interview is over.”

Mr Sheppard chuckled, sending a fresh batch of shivers down Jensen’s back. He was therefore relieved when the man began to retreat.

“I always get what I want, darling,” he said as he made his way towards the door. “You will do well to remember that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jensen’s father never regained consciousness and passed away unaware that his estate had been bought by an anonymous buyer and that his destitute family had nowhere to go. After the burial they were sitting in a small drawing-room in their mourning garb, huddled before the grate. Mackenzie was pressed to his side, while Jensen’s strong arm was wrapped around her trembling shoulder, his cheek resting on top of her head, as she continued to weep. For all that he had known – in his mind, at least – the graveness of his father’s condition and its most likely outcome, it still came as a terrible shock to face his actual passing. His physical presence – the knowledge that he was in his bedchamber – when one could pretend that he was merely resting – had been, after all, reassuring. But he was no longer there. His body had been removed from the house and buried alongside his father and grandfather and great-grandfather in the family crypt and the place that he had previously occupied was now a dark empty hole filled with unutterable grief. Jensen could barely keep it together and knew that come evening he would get incredibly drunk. His sister was his only comfort.

His mother remained unmoved by the loss and appeared more concerned with the fact that her mourning attire was woefully outdated than her husband’s passing. Mrs Ackles and Mrs Ferris were talking in a whisper between themselves. Jensen suspected that his mother’s companion was once again attempting to convince his mother to come and stay with her for the present; Mrs Ferris’s sister kept a respectable inn along a busy road on route to one of the popular watering-places, where she was offered a board and an employment. Mrs Ferris thought that Mrs Ackles could stay with her there during the mourning period. However, Jensen knew that his mother would never agree to that and wondered not for the first time what was to become of them now. He still hadn’t received a reply from his uncle and feared that the latter had decided not to know them anymore. It was astonishing how little people cared or wanted to know you when you were in distress.

However, the estate had been sold and all debts discharged. It had fetched more on account of its history; once being an abbey it contained a number of underground tunnels. His mother had retained the use of her jointure and though it would not allow her to lead the life of opulence and abundance of before, it would, at least, provide her with something to live upon. He and his sister, on the other hand, had nothing. “Well, that is not quite so, is it?” spoke an unctuous voice in his head as though scratching a bleeding wound with a nail. For the first time since his conversation with Mr Sheppard a small part of Jensen’s mind wondered if he should have agreed to his ungodly proposition. Of course, he would lose all dignity, honour and respect towards himself and would probably die a horrible and painful death from French pox or some such disease before long; but at least he would be able to provide for his sister until then and in the end that was all that he was presently concerned with. His own felicity was of no import.

Jensen glanced down at Mackenzie and seeing how pale and ill she looked prevailed upon her to go to her room and have some rest before dinner; in the meantime he intended to ponder the matter of when, where to, and in what manner to remove his family now that the estate was no longer theirs.

He hadn’t noticed when Mrs Ferris left the room and was startled to find himself alone with his mother. He had little wish to be anywhere near her these days and stood up to adjourn to his father’s study.

“Jensen,” she said in a perfunctory manner, making him twitch with irritation; “I would like to have a word with you. Please, take a seat.”

Jensen suppressed a retort and did as he was bid.

“So your uncle hasn’t written,” she began.

Jensen shook his head.

“Not that it matters, of course,” continued Mrs Ackles with authority. “You will go to him at once and prostrate yourself at his feet, beseeching him to forgive your father for throwing him out of his family home and entreating him to take us in now that we have nowhere else to go.”

Jensen stared at her in horror. “Mother! I have just buried my father. I… I don’t know if it means anything to you, but – ”

“Don’t be so childish about it,” interrupted Mrs Ackles. “Your father is at peace now. Let us be grateful and rejoice that his sufferings were swift and that they are finally at an end. We are, however, still alive and facing a long and hard life of penury and degradation before us – unless you do something about it. I suppose, you can go on the morrow if you wish to be so stubborn about it. But go you must and go you will, Jensen. You are the head of the family now and this is your sacred duty. Think of your unfortunate mother. Think of your wretched sister. What do you think will become of her now that she has no marriage portion to speak of? Who will take her if she has neither fortune nor connections? Don’t be so selfish, Jensen. I never expected such hard-heartedness from you. Your elder brother would not have hesitated! If only he hadn’t perished on the battlefield he would have taken care of us in a proper manner!” She threw a hard look at him. “We never denied you anything. Never.”

Jensen was sure that his eyes had become as round as a full moon; but he was too shocked by the unfairness of her accusations to speak. He just checked a sigh and stood up.

“I shall go and pack then if I am to leave early in the morning,” he said.

“You will do no such thing until I am done and I am not done yet!”

“Is there something else?”

“Indeed, there is,” replied Mrs Ackles peevishly. “However, I refuse to proceed upon the matter with you towering over me in this manner. I must confess that I am not particularly pleased with your conduct these days. I am not the enemy here, Jensen. I am your mother and I am simply trying to do what is best for us all under the circumstances.” She began to sniffle softly but convincingly into her lacy handkerchief, alternatively dabbing with it at the corners of her eyes. “I am merely trying to salvage the relics of our former life.”

Jensen silently prayed for patience and lowered himself into a chair opposite her.

“Very well, mother,” he said wearily. “I am listening. Can you proceed now that I am not towering over you?”

“Quite.” Mrs Ackles promptly put away her handkerchief and fixed Jensen with a look of steel. “I would like to begin by reminding you that your uncle is rich and childless. His grandfather left him a very large fortune and with no progeny of his own you are by all rights his heir presumptive.”

“He is also extremely handsome,” observed Jensen.

“And what, pray, does that have to do with anything?” asked his mother with a frown.

“I would assume that there must be a great number of women who wish to become his wife and provide him with an heir and a spare.”

Mrs Ackles scoffed. “Jensen, how silly you are. If your uncle hasn’t taken a wife by now, I believe it is safe to assume that he does not intend to enter marriage at all. I imagine that he likes his life as it is and procuring a wife when he is so much settled in his ways would be sheer folly. And children! Lord, they would disrupt his life completely. I’m sure he doesn’t want that. Besides, he has you. He has always been mightily fond of you, has he not? And as for his good looks – well! We haven’t seen him in ages. For all we know he is not as handsome as he used to be. In any case, his looks aren’t any concern of yours, Jensen. All you have to do is make sure that you are the best heir he will ever have or want to have. Don’t contradict him. Do everything that he asks of you. I don’t care what it is or what your sentiments on the matter are. It is of no import. Appease him. Gratify his every wish. Your main task is to wrap him around your finger and become so indispensable to him he will not know what to do without you in his life. We must make sure that he leaves everything to you. Well then! I hope I have made myself perfectly clear. Now you can go and pack. I am done.”

Jensen blinked, feeling as stunned as though someone had hit him between the eyes. His ears were ringing. It suddenly struck him that if Mr Sheppard had turned with his proposition to his mother instead she wouldn’t have hesitated to sell her son to him if it meant retaining her large house and comfortable life. When his eyes travelled back to her he saw that she was looking askance at him, as though wondering what he was still doing there. He remembered then that she had dismissed him and hastened to take his leave.

His mind was reeling. Even more than he detested the idea of groveling at his uncle’s feet, asking forgiveness for something that he had no part in, he detested the idea of leaving Mackenzie practically alone at such an awful time. Her governess had already departed to take up her new post elsewhere and her mother had already proven herself incapable of providing her with warmth and counsel that she needed at present. It was with a heavy heart indeed that he broke the news of his urgent departure to her.

Late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, feeling drained in body and thoroughly dispirited in mind, Jensen was about to get a few hours of sleep before his journey when he heard an unmistakable sound of an approaching carriage. Jensen gasped. Could it be…? But then who else would it be? Jensen didn’t want to raise his hopes up but he was desperate for some good tidings. He didn’t think that he could take another blow.

He bounded down the stairs not even bothering to take the candle for the silvery light of the full moon streamed unimpeded through the windows. He unlocked and unlatched the front doors and rushed outside just as a familiar bulk of a tall man stepped out of the carriage and straightened up, his chapeau bras under his arm. The light of the moon illuminated his face; he looked older and more rugged than before; but Jensen had no trouble recognizing him – not when he was smiling broadly at him, his eyes full of warmth and affection beneath a mop of dark tousled hair.

Still, Jensen’s voice trembled when he whispered, “Uncle?”

Sir Jeffrey nodded and Jensen could have wept with joy.

“Thank God; I’ve missed you so!”

His uncle laughed. “As have I.”

He beckoned Jensen to come closer and when Jensen readily complied he cupped his face within the palms of his large gloved hands and looked at him for the longest of time.

“My beautiful boy has grown into a beautiful man,” he said at last before engulfing Jensen in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Jensen decided that he could remain standing wrapped in his uncle's arms for the rest of his life. He tucked his head in the snug crook between his head and shoulder and pressed his nose to the exposed spot of flesh where his cravat had wilted. Here was warmth and comfort that he needed so much. His uncle smelt heavily of the road, buckskin, damp cloth and horses; but for Jensen the combination was as sweet-smelling as though he were surrounded by a rose shrub in bloom.

“We should probably move inside,” he mumbled, pressing deeper into his uncle’s warmth. He felt the man’s rumbling chuckle reverberate through his body.

“Well, I have been on the road a while,” he said, raising one of his hands to caress Jensen's cheek.

Jensen leaned into his touch like a cat, arching his back and rubbing his face against his uncle's broad palm. The tips of the man’s fingers alone held more tenderness and affection than all of his mother’s heart.

“I fear we don’t have a room prepared for you... we didn’t truly know if you were coming... but you can take my room… I’m sure I can stay in one of the other rooms… It will be no bother,” said Jensen in a rush when they entered the house. “Your servants can proceed to the servant quarters once they have put the horses in the stables and took care of the carriage. I dare say there is room enough these days.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. “If you are hungry, I could fetch something from the kitchen,” he offered. “Mack and I have been taking our meals there ever since the house-keeper left and entrusted me with the keys from all the pantries and – ”

“Jensen,” chuckled his uncle and Jensen stopped his nervous babble with a sheepish look. “Breathe. I am not hungry and I am not tired either. I am grateful for your concern but you have to take it easy before you give yourself a fit. I had both a fine meal and a sound sleep while I rested the horses on my way here. I wouldn’t say no to a glass of brandy, though. However, if, perhaps – ”

Jensen laughed. “Oh, we’ve got plenty of brandy left from my father’s stock, uncle. Do not worry. I have been so busy of late I never got around to depleting it. Though, by God, the temptation was strong indeed!”

He could feel his uncle’s eyes boring into him as he confessed to it and he lowered his head, blushing.

“I would like to hear all about it, Jensen, if you don’t mind,” said Sir Jeffrey softly, touching him lightly on the arm. “I know the subject must be painful to you but I hope you can oblige me. We do not have to speak of it again once we’re done.”

“Of course,” replied Jensen at once. “I do not mind, uncle. In fact, I imagine it will be a relief to talk to someone about it. I didn’t wish to tax Mack with the growing load of my worries and concerns and it appears that I have no – ” He swallowed and shook his head. No. He would not think of Danneel’s betrayal. Or the fact that he still hadn’t written to Misha; in case the man had likewise chosen to withdraw his friendship. He would rather not know. “In any case, it is better that you hear it from me first. Mother will no doubt proceed to apprise you of everything that has transpired as soon as she learns that you are come. However, frankly speaking, I cannot trust her to deliver the whole story without embellishing the ugly truth and falling into error of absolving the true perpetrators.”

They have reached Jensen’s room and as soon as the door closed behind them, he once again found himself held tight within his uncle’s embrace. Of course, feeling like he was a hair’s breadth away from crying was utterly ridiculous. He was a grown man. He was the head of the family for God’s sake! So why on earth did he feel like breaking into pieces and weeping like a child in his uncle’s arms?

Sir Jeffrey carded his fingers through Jensen’s mussed hair.

“I know you must have been through much these past few months,” he murmured. “But you have acquitted yourself so well. I'm so proud of my beautiful boy. And now I have come to relieve you of the stress and the weight my spendthrift brother and my featherbrained sister-in-law had burdened you with.”

Jensen reluctantly extricated himself from his uncle’s embrace and looked up into his eyes.

“Do you really mean it, sir? Will you help us?”

He was so desperate to have the responsibility eased off his shoulders he was ready to get down on his knees and beg. Instead, upon receiving his uncle’s sincerest assurances, he nodded and poured him a drink. They spent the best part of the night talking. At length, after giving him a grave look and commenting on how wanly he looked, Sir Jeffrey declined the warmth and comfort of Jensen’s bed and said that he would take a couch in his late brother’s study instead.

“You must have some rest at least, Jensen,” he said gently as he all but tucked him in, planting a scratchy kiss on his forehead into the bargain; “I hope that we can depart for London tomorrow before noon at the latest and I would prefer you to be conscious during the journey. You know how much I enjoy your company.”

“Then I shan’t disappoint you, sir,” murmured Jensen softly through a huge yawn. His uncle’s chuckle was the last thing that he heard as he drifted off to sleep.

Jensen was convinced that Sir Jeffrey was his lucky charm or else something quite supernatural was afoot when he was around. He could not account for the fact that on the morning after his uncle’s unexpected arrival he received not one but two letters – one from Misha and one from Danneel – in any other manner that would make sense. Jensen could not help letting out a loud gasp and widening his eyes when he saw who the letters were from and his hands trembled perceptibly when he took them from the tray before rushing out of the breakfast-parlour with a hastily muttered excuse and only half a thought on the fact that he was leaving his uncle one on one with his mother who was ready to sink her fangs and claws into him without Jensen being there to either smooth or stop the attack. However, he knew that his uncle was more than capable of holding his own and that he would treat his mother with understanding and forbearance that he knew he didn’t truly feel towards her for Jensen’s sake at least.

Jensen couldn’t think of any reason why Danneel would be writing to him now, after a passage of so many weeks since the dissolution of their betrothal, and wondered if, perhaps, she wished him to return some trinket, a lock of her hair, or such little tokens, that are only ever of any value to lovers, that she had bestowed upon him in the past. Jensen had been too much occupied with other matters to take stock of everything that they had exchanged over the years but knew that it would probably fill a moderate-sized vault. If his hands trembled when he took the letters from the tray it was nothing to how they were shaking now that he had unfolded her letter in order to acquaint himself with its content.

_MY DEAREST JENSEN – I hope against hope that by the time you receive this letter you will not have lost all your faith in me, believing that I have forsaken you at a time of such terrible personal loss, privation and hardship. I can only imagine what you must think of me after my father’s disgraceful defection. However, I trust you to know me better than that and believe me perfectly sincere when I tell you that his words and sentiments are not mine and that I stand by my promise to become your wife whenever it is in your power to lead me down the aisle. I also wish to remind you – in case suspicions and doubts have already taken roots – that I am your friend and as such I am always here for you. I do not know when I will be able to communicate my assurances to you in person for I was transported under false pretense to an elderly relative as far north as England extends and I have no means to leave here until my father sends for me. I knew nothing of what had happened until a few days ago when I received a letter from a friend who wished to console me on the occasion of losing my fiancé. The horror I experienced upon reading those lines I shall never forget. I did not know what to think and at first feared the worst. Eventually, however, I succeeded in wheedling the truth out of my elderly relative who had been sworn to secrecy by my brother when he brought me here. I think with time I will get her fully on my side. My father knows nothing of my rebellion and schemes; I’ve decided that the best course of action presently would be to bide my time in such wretched retirement as I find myself in until I have means to escape and reunite with you. For that is what I wish for more than anything – to be by your side. Tell me that you are not alone! Tell me that your family and friends have rallied around you at a time such as this! I cannot begin to imagine what you must have suffered; what an excruciating blow it must have been to lose so much at once. How is your dear sister? How is your mother? What are your plans? Where are you heading to? I hope my letter reaches you while you are still at your ancestral home. I have so many questions that give my mind no peace. I entreat you to respond as swiftly as possible. However, I must urge you to use a false name and a fake address for I am not entirely certain that I am not being watched and that my correspondence is not being subjected to an inspection._

Misha’s letter was much shorter than Danneel’s and his greeting far less cordial.

 _ACKLES_ – it began, filling Jensen with instant dread – _I have a bone to pick with you and a very large bone at that. I do not know what you are playing at but I would think that it would take more than losing an estate and a fortune for you to cut all ties with your oldest friend. So if that had been your ploy all along, it hadn’t worked; and if you wished to get rid of me all these years, the least you could do was to do it face to face. If you were anywhere within the flying distance of my glove, I would have challenged you to settle the score the old-fashioned way; as it is, I shall be waiting for your heartfelt apologies and an explanation of your abominable conduct towards me in written form. By-the-by, I shall not be easily satisfied!_

Jensen chuckled to himself as he reread the short epistle and soundly berated himself for having so little faith in his friends. What a total ass he had been!

He was still smiling widely when they settled themselves in his uncle’s carriage. Mrs Ackles began to prattle about her triumphant return to society as soon as they set off, incessantly enumerating public places and private parlours that her brother-in-law would have the honour of escorting her to in order to show everyone that she was back in the game under the patronage of Sir Jeffrey, Lord Morgan.

It appeared that his mother was convinced that Jensen’s closeness to his uncle was measured in distance or its lack between them, which meant that through her fussy machinations with the seating arrangements Jensen found himself sitting practically in the other man’s lap, feeling the tension that gripped him when Mrs Ackles began to speak. Jensen surreptitiously slipped his hand into his uncle’s in order to soothe his growing vexation, knowing that it would be concealed by Sir Jeffrey’s chapeau bras, while exchanging an exasperated look with Mackenzie who was trying to read opposite him.

Finally, a few miles too many into their journey, his mother fell asleep. Mackenzie was therefore at liberty to enjoy her novel. Jensen, in the meantime, thoroughly enjoyed Sir Jeffrey’s company and conversation that did not involve calls, soirees, theatres and balls. He did not remember the last time he felt as carefree and content as when he was sitting pressed to his uncle’s side, his head gradually resting on his shoulder, his hand grasped in his uncle’s hand, talking in an intimate murmur so as not to disturb his sister; two letters in the pocket of his coat warming his heart with words of friendship, devotion and support.


	7. Chapter 7

Mackenzie perched herself on the arm of Jensen’s chair and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I thought that staying in London would be more exciting than watching my elder brother write letters,” she teased as she pecked him on the cheek.

Jensen laughed and put the quill back into the inkwell before wrapping his arms around her waist and looking up at her with happy crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“I thought it my duty to inform Misha that I was in town as soon as I arrived,” he replied. “He is not happy with me and expects apologies and explanations that I prefer to give in person. I hope that my promptness to comply with his request will appease him.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “But something tells me that he is more likely to storm in here challenging me to a boxing match before that can happen – and considering that I haven’t been in the ring for a twelvemonth at least it might just ensure his triumph.”

Mackenzie laughed but her countenance turned grave when her eyes fell upon Danneel’s letter. “Have you written to Danneel yet?” she asked.

Jensen ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am still looking for the right words. I believe that’s why a short note to Misha is slowly turning into a three-volume novel.”

“You have not changed your mind then?” asked his sister softly, referring to the conversation that they’d had right after Jensen had showed her the letters.

Jensen shook his head.

“I do not wish to hurt her but I cannot keep her tethered to me now that I can offer her nothing at all. It will be selfish of me to blight her prospects at happiness and prosperity just because I no longer have any of my own.”

Mackenzie considered her brother thoughtfully. “It seems to me that she has already made her choice,” she said eventually. “Her letter strongly suggests that.”

Jensen sighed. “I must at least let her know that she is at liberty to choose otherwise and that she doesn’t have to sacrifice her chances at being properly established in the world because of her loyalty to me.”

“I’m sure it’s more than just her loyalty to you that prompts her willingness to wait as long as it takes you to get back on your feet.”

“That’s just it, though, isn’t it? What if I never get back on my feet?” asked Jensen in mild frustration. “Uncle has been extremely accommodating and generous so far but if mother continues to harass him with her constant demands and groundless expectations his patience will run its course rather sooner than later and then he will turn us all out with a single snap of his fingers.”

“I doubt that. He loves you,” observed Mackenzie. “He would never do that to his favourite.”

“I know, Mack. I know,” admitted Jensen with a sigh. “But I cannot live in my uncle’s pocket forever and I cannot ask him to support both me and my wife and any number of children that we might have in future until the end of his natural life. He might decide then that his affection for me doesn’t stretch that far and that he would much rather have his house, his money and his life to himself.”

His sister nodded. “Have you talked to him about a career you wish to pursue?”

Jensen stared incredulously at her. “With our dear mother talking without a stop whenever he is around? Impossible! I can barely get a word in edgewise as it is but to take up a serious subject such as this?” He shook his head vehemently. “I’m afraid I will just have to wait until she regains her position in society and leaves us be.”

Mackenzie hummed, twirling her finger in circles on the surface of the desk in an absent-minded manner. Jensen noticed her pensive expression and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “What is it, Mack?”

“What? Oh. Nothing.”

Jensen snorted. “I doubt that it’s nothing if you can’t even look me in the eye.”

Mackenzie huffed before smiling and returning her gaze to him. “I have been thinking about the urgency with which mother has taken to re-establishing herself in good graces of society and the alacrity with which she has engaged our uncle’s patronage,” she said slowly. “The season is upon us, you know. It cannot be a mere coincidence that she has been making an extensive list of wealthy and influential families with eligible young men.”

“Good God, Mack!” cried Jensen in horror. “You are but fifteen! Surely – ”

“I am old enough to get married,” she pointed out quietly.

“Do you want to get married?” asked Jensen with a puzzled frown, trying to understand what his sister was trying to tell him.

Mackenzie shook her head at once. “However, I know that my lack of enthusiasm at the prospect of getting married won’t stop mother from forcing me into matrimony should she find a suitable marriage partner for me. I... ” Mackenzie looked away again, her cheeks colouring slightly. “I know that she puts a lot of pressure on you to act the perfect heir to our uncle and I swear, Jensen, I would never dream of asking you to solicit any favours on my behalf. I do not wish to be like her and the fact that I’m doing just that makes me sick to my stomach but – I saw how close you are; how much he dotes on you…”

Mackenzie looked at Jensen with tears in her eyes. Jensen took his sister’s hands in his and squeezed them.

“Mack, what is it? Tell me. It’s fine. You know I will do anything for you. I will talk to uncle. It is no hardship at all.”

Mackenzie nodded.

“I wish to continue my education,” she said, a semblance of her customary spirit back in her voice. “I know that I am too old for a new governess and, in any case, I would not wish another one to take Miss Tal’s place. But then it occurred to me that I have led a very sheltered life and apart from you and Danneel I have no other friends to speak of. But I think that if I were to go to school I would acquire both further education and expand my circle of friends.”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Jensen. “I shall talk to uncle.” He heaved a sigh. “I just need to find a way to keep mother away from him long enough to do that…”

Mackenzie grinned. “I think I can help you with that,” she said. “I’m sure mother is dying to tell me all about the young men that she is considering a suitable match for me. I believe I can give you at least half an hour.”

“That will do.” Jensen grinned, pecking her on the cheek in imitation of her earlier greeting before drawing his eyebrows in a mock frown. “Now go and find something to occupy yourself with or I will never finish this missive.”

“Grumpy!” teased Mackenzie, leaping down from the arm of his chair and taking flight across the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really love to hear your thoughts! Lack of feedback is extremely discouraging at this cold and dark time of year...

Jensen came to a halt a few paces away from the gentlemen's club Misha had dragged him to, feeling suddenly nervous and uncertain.

"What's the matter?" asked Misha with a frown when he realized that Jensen had fallen behind.

"I'm not sure I'm welcome within its walls these days," replied Jensen.

"Why?" Misha raised his eyebrows. "Do you think they might take you for a bashful young lady what with your full lips and long lashes? You look so pretty and demure the mistake is easy enough to make, I grant you that. Would you like to lean on my arm, fair maiden? Alas, I am not a knight in shining armour but I can promise to keep you safe until he comes to claim you."

Jensen rolled his eyes at his friend's mockery. "My status has undergone quite a change since I was here last, Misha," he reminded him. "I cannot imagine that they would be too happy about having a pauper as their member." Jensen bit his lip. "I think I should follow my mother's example and ask my uncle to accompany me here. His presence will secure me from the mortification of being gossiped about and will also establish me as his heir for other gentlemen to see and to spread the word."

"So coming here as my friend is not good enough for you anymore?"

Jensen looked horrified at the implied offense his words had conveyed. He frantically shook his head. "Mish, that's not what I meant. I swear. I just – "

Misha waved his apologies away. "I think I know what this is about," he said with a nod and a shrewd look in his eyes, his face slowly splitting into a wide grin that didn't bode well. "I must say I had an inkling when you wouldn't leave your uncle's house until personally reassured by him that you were at liberty to do as you please but now... Well! My suspicions have been confirmed."

Jensen frowned.

"What are you talking about?" he asked warily.

"You are in love with your uncle, my dear friend. The Great Sir Jeffrey! The idea of leaving his side is unbearable to you and you'd rather rush home and crawl back into his lap than spend a few more hours in the company of your friend."

The horrified look on Jensen's face was so comical Misha doubled over with uproarious laughter at the sight of it.

"You have such a blasphemous mouth on you," muttered Jensen with a shake of his head once his heart-rate had subsided so as to allow him to speak without gasping for air. "I am not in love with my uncle," he stated firmly, looking at the ground rather than at Misha. "However, I am forever in his debt and as such I think it only natural that I should make sure that he has no objections to my stepping out with my friend when he might have already made other plans for me. I am at his complete disposal."

Misha snorted. "I wager I know what those plans would have involved had I not interrupted the two of you. I was too astonished at the time to give myself an opportunity to react but nothing will ever efface the image of your ass falling off his lap when I entered the room. Do make sure he kisses it better when you come back."

Jensen flushed.

"Please, can we not talk about it here?" he implored in a whisper.

Misha smirked and bowed him towards the club. Jensen sighed in resignation.

"You know," said Misha when they were seated with drinks in their hands, "I always thought that I should be the only man in your life you would look at with such devotion and adoration. Well, I will just have to reconcile myself to the fact that I am to share you with him now that he is back in your life and stomp mercilessly on the coils of jealousy that awaken in the pit of my stomach whenever you speak of him."

Jensen rolled his eyes again. "Misha," he hissed, "how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not in lo - "

"Is that why you were so utterly heartbroken when he disappeared from your life and your father forbade to mention his name? I think it was at that time that you started devoting most of your time to writing verses dedicated to him and sketching his profile in the margins. See? That is why we will always remain the most intimate of friends, Jensen. We know too many of each other's secrets to pose a devastating threat in case of a rift."

Jensen blanched. "Is that the only reason why we are still friends?" he asked slowly.

Misha blinked; then stared incredulously at him. "Dear Lord! You are as skittish as a colt these days. Did you lose your common sense along with your fortune?" he asked.

"I might have," replied Jensen quietly.

Upon hearing the sound of voices on the other side of the room, Jensen got to his feet and walked towards the window in order to compose himself. He knew that he must be wearing a look of shock and confusion on his face that would not fail to excite curiosity if observed. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes felt as though they were twice their normal size. Misha’s words had greatly disconcerted him and he wished he had sufficient time at his command to get his wits about himself before facing the others.

He had never considered his feelings towards his uncle as anything out of the ordinary. He always knew that he loved him but he never suspected that he could be in love with him. It was impossible! One did not simply fall in love with one’s uncle. The idea was ludicrous and dangerous. Jensen put his hand over his mouth and dragged it down his chin in mild panic, his heart beating at a much faster pace than one would expect while standing quite motionless staring out of the window at the grey outline of the city outside. Had he been behaving in an inappropriate manner all this time? Surely his uncle would have spoken to him of it had that been the case. But he hadn’t seemed to mind his proximity in the least. In fact, he had always encouraged him to seat next to him, his arm draped over Jensen’s shoulder.

Had they been unwittingly crossing the line that should never be crossed? Their intimacy in the past had been the natural result of their closeness for they spent a great deal of time in each other’s company and shared a certain similarity of dispositions; then, having been brought together after years apart, they naturally craved the contact they had shared once before. That was as far as his thoughts had proceeded before the door opened.

“Heyday! Look here. Count Dmitri!” cried a familiar voice and Jensen counted at least three pairs of boots enter the room. Pulling himself together and hoping that he didn’t look as though he had seen a ghost, he turned around to face the room. He recognized Matt Cohen, Gil McKinney and Jake Abel.

“Well, I'll be damned! Ackles? That you? How are things, old man? Heard about what happened. Terrible news. Such a shame! Too bad, too bad…” they spoke at the same time without waiting for him to offer any sort of reply as they swiftly moved onto the subject of a much greater interest. “Let’s have some of that brandy, shall we, boys? Who’s up for a rubber of whist? I’m itching to win a hand. I have a horse to stake on and I wouldn’t mind some extra cash in case that goes belly up.”

They had just settled with their drinks at the card table, excepting Jensen, who stood behind Misha to watch the game, no longer at liberty to waste money on such frivolous pursuits, when the door opened again and Jensen barely managed to stifle a groan at the sight of the newcomer.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled as he entered the room as though he owned the place. “Well, well, well! Frackles. Didn’t expect to see you here. Haven’t they kicked you out now that you are no longer eligible and all?”

Jensen’s jaw twitched but he stared calmly at Right Honourable Chad Michael Murray – the person who made his school days a living hell and who still managed to get under his skin.

“Must you resort to such juvenile antics?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Would you prefer if I called you Jenny instead?” taunted Murray.

“I would prefer to be addressed in a proper manner,” replied Jensen coldly.

“And why should I do that? You’re a nobody these days.”

“He’s Lord Morgan’s heir,” corrected Misha.

“Ha! His faithful lackey speaks up!” cried Murray, clapping his hands together. “Right on cue. Good boy.”

Jensen glared at his stupid, smirking face, feeling that he was a hair’s breadth away from doing something monumentally stupid. It was incredible that Murray continued to hold such a solid grudge against him over something that happened when they were mere children. He had to admit, though, that it was rather reassuring to know that he had been right all along in choosing Misha’s hand of friendship over his.

A dull thud of a body bumping into the door made them all start. Jensen stared in bewilderment as a tall wiry young man practically fell into the room, his long legs appearing to dance a jig beneath his elongated body as though of their own accord.

“Murray! Thank God. I think I got lost. Too many blasted doors for my liking,” he said, wheezing slightly. He straightened up the next moment and smiled brightly at the assembly, his grin disappearing into two slanted dimples on both sides of his mouth as he swept his too long hair out of his eyes.

“Gentlemen,” said Murray with a genial note in his usually acerbic voice that made Jensen stare at him in astonishment. “I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Mr Jared Padalecki.”

“Fresh from the country as you can see,” said Padalecki with a jovial chuckle as he made a low bow to the room at large.

Jensen stared in fascination as the man’s long arms and legs continued to move even when he was standing on one spot, his body acting like a spring. Murray proceeded to introduce him to every individual in the room. At last, he motioned towards Jensen without looking at him and threw over his shoulder with a careless flick of his wrist, “Ackles” in a manner that strongly implied that he wasn’t worth knowing.

Jensen swallowed the pique, made a shallow bow and slowly looked back at the stranger, expecting to see a look of mild disdain on his face. Their eyes met. Padalecki’s, he noted, had become extremely wide. “By Jove!” he cried. “You are the prettiest man I’ve ever beheld!”

The room exploded with laughter just as Jensen found himself squished against Jared Padalecki’s solid chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Jensen gasped when his nose bumped into the other man’s cheek and his lips touched the stubbly side of his jaw. He was still too stunned to do anything but gape at the other man like an utter nitwit when Jared had finally released him. Jared, in the meantime, was looking bashfully at him from under his floppy bangs, his huge grin in place.

“I have done it again, haven’t I? I hope I have not offended you with my – what’s that – exuberant manner of address?” he offered with a hopeful puppy-like expression on his dimpled face, his arms gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m too prone to such shockingly impulsive displays and that I speak my mind too freely, my tongue galloping miles ahead of my brain. I’m not much for polite society, you see, being as uncouth as they come…”

He shrugged and continued with a faint yet discernible note of insecurity and self-deprecation in his voice, “I guess that’s why I prefer to stay in the country most of the time. I’m much better suited for a simple life of a farmer than a fancy one that of a worldly gentleman. Heavens, you still haven’t said a word!” Jared peered at Jensen. “Just how much have I offended you, sir?” he asked a moment later with a frown.

Jensen couldn’t help it – he laughed, throwing his whole body into it. He found the other man wonderfully open, eager, beautiful, charming, and refreshingly free of artifice and craftiness. He knew at once that he wanted to know more of him.

“I am not offended, sir. Indeed, I am not,” he assured him earnestly, shaking his head and smiling brightly at him to emphasize his words. “I wish more people in town were like you – I’m certain it would be a much better place then. I must confess that I spend most of my time here but it is in the country that I feel myself truly at home. It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jensen Ackles. I’m afraid your friend forgot to mention my name.”

“Jensen…” repeated Jared in a murmur, looking quite dazed.

“Is something the matter?” asked Jensen, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” cried Jared at once. “I just… I…” He shook his head in frustration; then tugged at the wayward strands that fell into his eyes as he did so. “Lord! But you are the prettiest man I have ever seen. I declare it’s like staring into the sun. I can either look at you with my mouth open or listen to you with my eyes closed but I find that I have trouble doing both at the same time…”

Jensen blushed when he heard snorts and barks of laughter from behind. “I’m afraid you will have to find a way,” he said sternly, deliberately holding Jared’s gaze; “otherwise, we won’t have a chance to continue what promises to be a fine friendship.”

Jared looked stricken at the thought.

“Don’t beat yourself up too hard over it, Padalecki,” said Misha amiably. “Jensen has this particular effect on people wherever he goes.”

“We’ve all been where you are now,” added Gil McKinney with understanding.

“Well, some of us still are!” cried Matt Cohen.

“Indeed,” chortled Jake Abel. “We all know the agony you are in. Take it easy, man.”

Murray raised a sardonic eyebrow as he looked at each one of them in turn. “I seem to be the only one impervious to Ackles’s questionable charms,” he said with his trademark superiority. “I suppose it must be the rank. It elevates one above such trivialities.”

“I think Lord Omundson would strongly disagree with you there,” said Misha smugly.

“Misha!” hissed Jensen, looking appalled at his friend. “Can we all please stop discussing my looks?” he added to the room at large, feeling so flushed with embarrassment he felt like jumping headfirst into the river.

“Lord Omundson, did you say?” inquired Murray sharply.

“Do you know him?” asked Misha, one eyebrow disappearing under his carelessly swept forward mop of dark hair.

“I’ve heard of him. He used to belong to father’s close circle of friends. He was said to be very eccentric. Left England about ten years ago, I think. No one ever knew why. Quite a mystery that. A subject of much gossip it was for a while too. Where did you meet him?”

“Switzerland.”

Jensen knew upon seeing the glint in Misha’s eyes momentarily directed at him that he wasn’t going to stop there and slumped defeated in an armchair in the farthest corner of the room, covering his flaming face with his hands and shaking his head. The rest of the card party appeared much excited by the prospect of hearing a story that promised entertainment and indicated that they were ready to listen by putting down their cards and urging Misha to proceed. Misha didn’t need much encouragement, considering how long he had been craving to share the anecdote with the public.

“It was quite magical, I swear. Ackles and I went boating on a lake at full moon and both being stupidly drunk ended up falling asleep in each other’s arms while gazing at the stars,” began Misha with a flourish, making the others snigger.

Jensen rolled his eyes. “I still have no idea how come we didn’t drown in the middle of that lake,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest; but no one paid him any mind.

“Alas,” continued Misha, even more dramatically than before, “we woke up only when our boat hit a rock and dumped us rather unceremoniously into water, which unexpected turn proved quite effective in waking and sobering us up. Naturally, we scrambled to our feet, coughing, spluttering, swearing, spitting and spilling water out of places I had no idea water could get into…”

The room rang with laughter.

Misha cleared his throat and everyone fell silent.

“It was precisely at that mortifying moment when we heard a most delightful gale of laughter ever produced by a man. Upon looking upwards, we found a very fine-looking gentleman gazing down at us with a great deal of amusement from where he had one of his feet resting against the rock.”

“Lord Omundson, I presume,” observed Murray unnecessarily.

Jensen well remembered that moment. The man was barefoot; his sand-coloured breeches were drenched and his white shirt was hanging loosely about him. He was clutching his upper arms with both hands, while the sun, like so many fragments of glass, reflected off his signet ring. His face was handsome and rather brown from all the sun with a pair of shrewd, stormy eyes. His thick mane of wavy grey hair gave him a rather wild look.

“I swear the moment his eyes fell upon Jensen’s finely-honed features and form most helpfully accentuated by sodden breeches he wanted to devour him. He invited us to step inside his villa to get dry and guessing that we hadn’t had any breakfast proposed to provide us with some refreshments. Naturally, we agreed. He pointed us in the direction of his villa next, which was just visible from behind a thicket of trees, but walked behind us, his gaze never once leaving Jensen’s perfectly-shaped rear.”

“Misha, what a strange friend you are!” cried Jensen from his corner, looking even more petulant than before. “I will never understand your desire to mortify me.”

“Hush, Jensen! I haven’t finished telling the story.”

“Will you ever?”

“We stripped out of our clothes and were supplied, much to our astonishment, with white sheets to wrap ourselves in,” continued Misha. “Mine provided me with all the privacy that I needed. Jensen’s, on the other hand, barely covered him at all.”

“I am somewhat taller than you are,” pointed out Jensen.

“He began to fuss and grumble and our helpful host instantly obliged him by arranging the sheet around him and probably getting an eyeful into the bargain.” Jensen groaned in the background. “By the time his ministrations were completed, Jensen’s sheet resembled an actual toga; one of his shoulders was bared and as far as its length was concerned it now barely reached his mid-thigh. I half-expected him to bring out the sandals next.”

Jensen dropped his head into his hands. “I hate you so much,” he muttered, eliciting snickers from the congregation whose attention was otherwise fixed completely upon Misha and his narration.

“There was an easel on the verandah where we were seated. Lord Omundson asked us to tell him about ourselves and our trip and then asked Jensen if he would allow him to take his likeness.” Misha paused dramatically before delivering the next word – “Naked! Yes, indeed. As naked as the day he was born, my friends. He said that he had never seen a finer specimen of a young man and that he was quite in love with him.”

“I shall murder you in your bed, Misha,” swore Jensen through gritted teeth when everybody turned to stare at him with eager faces, just like a bunch of curs salivating over a rare bone.

“Well? Did you do it? Come on, Ackles, tell us!”

“Of course, I didn’t!” exclaimed Jensen, rolling his eyes and throwing his arms upwards. “Don’t be such utter blockheads!”

“I bet you regret it now, though,” drawled Murray.

“Why? Why on earth would I regret preserving my dignity?” asked Jensen, nettled.

Murray smirked. “I mean to say, you are in dire straits, aren’t you, and that piece of questionable art would no doubt fetch a hefty sum among your many worshippers and admirers.”

Jensen glared at him but didn’t reply.

“Don’t despair, Ackles,” said Matt Cohen with a grin. “We might yet find a wealthy husband for you this season.”

“I would marry you,” blurted out Jared. “Unfortunately, I am already spoken for.”

“Is that so?” asked Jensen, raising an eyebrow. “Even without my marriage portion? How very gallant of you, sir!”

Murray snorted. “Lord! Let’s go before you do anything more stupid,” he said and motioned for his friend to follow him. “By-the-by, I am hosting a small hunting party this weekend,” he said as an afterthought, already standing in the doorway. “I would not mind seeing you at my hunting lodge, gentlemen.”

The gentlemen comprising the card party cheered. Jared, in the meantime, leaned over and whispered urgently into his friend’s ear. Murray let out a long-suffering sigh and turned around.

“Ackles, you are, of course, likewise invited,” he drawled. “However, I wonder how you shall manage to reach the place… no carriage… no horse… Do you think you can afford to go by stagecoach?”

“Don’t worry about, Jensen,” interjected Misha. “He always has a place in my carriage.”

“Oh! How could I forget? Ackles won’t relieve himself without Count Dmitri holding up a chamber-pot for him. Very well. Come in whichever manner you like. I couldn’t care less.”


	10. Chapter 10

It took a long time for Jensen to compose himself after Murray’s departure and he was grateful that Misha and the others returned to their interrupted rubber without tormenting him any more on the subject of sitting naked for some mad earl who left England under mysterious circumstances many years ago. Jensen had to admit that he didn’t wish to spend any time at all in Murray’s company or on his property, considering their unfortunate personal history and the resulting mutual enmity. However, the temptation of a hunting party was too powerful for a sportsman inside of him to resist. He enjoyed hunting a great deal but without an estate of his own he hadn’t been able to shoot anything this season. October was a fine month for pheasant, partridge, woodcock and other fowl and Jensen knew that Murray kept his woods well stocked with game.

Naturally, the primary factor that prompted him to accept the invitation, however ungraciously bestowed, was to pursue further acquaintance with one Jared Padalecki. Jensen was no stranger to certain intimacies between men within the boundaries of friendship. He had been sharing a bed with Misha for as long as he could remember and he was quite used to Misha’s embraces and caresses: a peck on the cheek, a kiss to the nape of his neck... His relationship with his uncle was likewise extremely physical. But it had taken Jensen many a year to reconcile himself to the fact that he craved a man’s touch far more than that of a woman; and it had been in large part due to Misha’s tireless efforts and rather unorthodox methods that he hadn’t come to hate himself for his unnatural tendencies.

However, he had never before experienced what he felt when he was held in Jared’s arms for that single blink-of-an-eye moment. He was struck by a dizzying realization of wholeness; a conviction of unequivocal belonging. He knew at that moment that he never wanted to leave the secure space of the other man’s embrace and felt a confusing sense of loss upon being released. He knew without being unable to account for it that Jared had felt something similar. Though rational by nature, Jensen had learnt to accept that certain things could not be explained by logic and that they had to be experienced and explored rather than studied and analyzed.

His third reason for going was the fact that he wanted to put some distance between himself and his uncle in order to explore his feelings towards him without being influenced by his immediate proximity. In any case, Sir Jeffrey’s time was at present completely engaged by Mrs Ackles and her many demands on his company. Mackenzie’s sudden departure for school came as a severe blow to her and her grand plans for the upcoming season and it took all of his uncle’s charm, flattery and patience to coax her into good humour again. Even though, Jensen reminded her, it would not have been right for his sister to be seen out and about making merry and looking for a husband when she was supposed to be in deep mourning. Fortunately, Sir Jeffrey had found a new companion for her. Miss Smith’s lot was not an easy one for she had to bear the main brunt of Mrs Ackles’s original disappointment and fury. However, she had already proven an excellent asset and the last Jensen saw she could make his mother do exactly what she wanted her to do.

Jensen knew his reasons for going. However, Misha’s reasons remained a mystery to him until he had an opportunity to enquire into them on their leaving the club a few hours later.

“You don’t care for hunting and you can barely stand the fellow,” he said. “Why on earth would you want to go? Please, don’t tell me that you’re doing it solely for the purpose of transporting me there.”

Misha chuckled and shook his head. “Jensen, I swear, you are so naïve sometimes. A hunting party is just an innocent pretext for what is to come afterwards. Murray is well-known for providing his guests with something far more entertaining than shooting birds and chasing hares at that hunting lodge of his.”

Jensen raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Like what?”

“Like revels, my friend, and orgies. Don’t be fooled by its designation of a hunting lodge for it is far more than that! I’ve heard it said that he has not had much taste for female company since his divorce from his latest wife took place and I’m rather curious to see what he has prepared…”

Jensen shook his head, feeling a prickle of foreboding at his friend’s words. “I’m not sure I wish to go if that is the case.”

Misha laughed. “Indeed? Not even for a chance to continue what promises to be a fine friendship with that overgrown puppy of a man?” he asked, quoting his words back at him. “Hm! It seems I have spoken too soon, after all.”

“Good God, what are you blathering about now?”

“Jensen, Jensen, Jensen,” said Misha in a sing-song manner, making him cringe. “It seems that just as I reconciled myself to one more man in your life other than myself, I now must reconcile myself to another. Young Jared seemed to be rather taken by you, did he not, despite his friend’s many an attempt at humiliating and disgracing you?”

Jensen bowed his head, grateful for twilight that concealed his spreading blush.

*

“I wondered if you should come! I was afraid you wouldn’t,” cried Jared upon seeing Jensen stepping out of Misha’s curricle in the pinkish light of an early morning onto a graveled path. He ran down the stairs of the house surrounded by a gaggle of baying pointers and yapping spaniels. Misha snorted; Jensen ignored him, his gaze fixed upon Jared’s excited countenance instead. “I have spoken to Murray,” continued Jared, barely heard over the din the dogs were making until he was towering over Jensen. “His horrid conduct towards you, I mean.” He pushed his hand through his hair before dropping it to his side in an agitated manner. “But he wouldn’t heed me.”

Jensen smiled. “We have a complicated history.”

“Pshaw!” cried Jared dismissively. “I don’t care a fart about that. He has to treat you with respect that you deserve.”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t think that I deserve any these days,” replied Jensen calmly. “I hope it doesn’t distress you too much, though.”

“Damn sure it does!”

“But surely not enough to spoil the hunt?”

“Nay! I will be hunting with you.”

“Well, I’m glad that we’ve established that,” said Misha, not bothering to cover a huge yawn that followed. “I’m going inside. I suppose I’ll see you both in the afternoon. Do come in one piece.”

“You can damn well count on it,” said Jensen and Jared at the same time.

Misha raised a quizzical eyebrow at them, then shook his head and went to the house.

“I didn’t know if you would be bringing your own piece so I took the liberty of selecting one for you,” said Jared, beckoning for the gamekeeper to join them. “Here. I thought a double barrel would be a right fit.”

Jensen took the gun and felt its shape and weight in his hands. “Joseph Manton?” he asked the name of the gun-maker and Jared nodded, looking pleased. “He does know how to craft a fine double gun, does he not? It seems in perfect condition,” declared Jensen upon concluding his examination and returning the gun back to the gamekeeper. “Thank you. I’m sure it will serve me well. I… did not fancy going to Mr Wilson to get one at a reduced price to suit my reduced circumstances as it were,” he confessed ruefully. “I mean, quite apart from not desiring to have any dealings with pawn-brokers, I was half-afraid to catch a glimpse of a gun that used to belong to me there.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” replied Jared cheerfully. “I wouldn’t want you to end up with some shabby piece that would blow your face off.”

“And what a pretty face it is,” drawled Murray, approaching them and slapping Jensen’s backside. “Almost as pretty as his rear I hear.” He raised his hands in mock-surrender when Jared glared at him. “I concur that it is a very pretty face. But nothing will change my mind on the freckles. They are an abomination. They positively blight his otherwise exquisite features. What? I am being nice.”

“Do you call slapping his rear and abusing his face being nice?” spat Jared.

“Where’s your gun?” interjected Jensen, alarmed to see Jared’s chest swell with fury.

Murray clutched at his heart. “Oh, Jenny! I am flattered that you are interested in my _gun_. But don’t you think it is rather too early in your relationship with Jared to make him jealous?”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Good God, Murray, just answer the damn question!”

“Well?” demanded Jared when Murray didn’t reply. “Aren’t you coming?”

"Upon my word, Jared! So soon? I fear Jenny will have to put that luscious mouth to better use in that case.”

“Jared – no!”

Jensen grabbed Jared’s arm not a moment too soon; another second and it would have connected with Murray’s nose.

Murray’s eyes widened.

“You – would – do – that?” he gasped, shock and fury mingled on his face as he glared at his friend. Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed like a madman. “Oh, this is priceless! You have known him for what? Quarter of an hour? And you already choose him over me? Him!” He turned on his heel and stalked off towards the house. “Enjoy the hunt!” he threw over his shoulder. “I hope you shoot each other dead.”

Jared stared after his friend with his mouth hanging open. “What the devil was that all about?” he asked in utter bewilderment. “He acted like a man possessed, I declare!”

Jensen sighed. “He acted like a petulant child throwing a tantrum at having his favourite toy taken away.” He shook his head. “Jared, I must apologize for putting you in this position. I fear that Murray finds my presence so insupportable he cannot control his baser instincts. I understand that he is generally not such an ass. I shouldn’t have come. I knew it was a bad idea to go to a place I am loathed at. However, I thought that it was my only chance to continue our acquaintance. But I think I will go and tell Misha to – ”

Jensen blinked. He suddenly realized that he was still holding Jared’s elbow in a grip. He snatched his hand away and curved it behind his back, his gloved fist clenched tightly.

“No,” said Jared firmly, putting his larger hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “I was the one who insisted on his inviting you – even after witnessing how horribly he treated you at the club. I’m afraid my interference has made things worse. I have never seen him act like that before.”

“You have never seen him around me much. I seem to have such an effect on him.”

“Well, I plan on keeping you around! So he’ll better get used to it.”

Jensen shook his head. He didn’t know what to say to such a declaration. He looked down and found one of the spaniels sprawled at his feet.

“Hello, girl! How are you doing?” He crouched and began to rub her belly, eliciting instant yips of pleasure and a great deal of squirming.

“Ah! I promised that she would have a chance to draw out some pheasants today,” said Jared. “I say we can’t disappoint her now or she’ll never trust my word again. Jensen?”

At that moment one of the pointers bumped its blunt nose into Jensen’s ear and knocked his hat backwards. The hat went flying and was instantly caught by another pair of dogs. Jensen, usually so particular about the immaculate state of his clothing, paid them no heed. With one of his arms curled around the pointer’s neck, that continued to lather one side of his face, while patting the spaniel, that was making itself comfortable in his lap, Jensen finally looked up. His first thought was that Jared was so much taller from his crouched position. Jensen’s heart gave a jolt. Jared was looking down upon him with such a hopeful expression he didn’t have a heart to refuse.

Having set off later than the rest of the party, they kept to themselves and before reaching the fields spent the time in acquainting each other with the circumstances of their lives. Jensen was instantly struck by certain peculiarities pertaining to them. It turned out, for instance, that their estates belonged to neighbouring parishes and that the distance between their houses – had a direct path to connect them existed – would be nothing at all.

“And yet I’ve never heard of you,” exclaimed Jensen in astonishment. “How quaint!”

“I understand that our families lead very different lifestyles and keep very different circles to have anything in common,” said Jared. “My father is a simple country squire and I am much like him. My elder brother was cut out for the fashionable world of metropolis, whereas I have always been more interested in land and flock rather than balls and cotillions. He was to inherit the estate and I was to manage it for him. I was quite happy with my lot. My brother, on the other hand, inherited much of that arrogance and conceit that belongs to our class and that nine times out of ten lead to downfall. He wanted to distinguish himself. He wanted glory. He bought himself a commission and went to war against our parents’ wishes, dreaming of becoming a hero. He never came back.”

Jensen put a hand on Jared’s forearm. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“I have a younger sister,” continued Jared with a nod. “Megan resides in the country with my mother and father. I wish I could be as fortunate as she is. However, my father decided that it was time for me to fill in my brother’s shoes and come to town in order to fulfill my social obligations and engagements before the world. His other reason for my coming, of course, was for me to meet my future wife – one he has chosen for me. Miss Cortese is merely a daughter of a tradesman but my father believes that money outweigh rank.”

“If only my father thought so,” muttered Jensen; “I dare say we wouldn’t have come to ruin then. How similar and yet how different our families are! I too am the second son. My elder brother also perished in war. I have a younger sister, Mackenzie, who is attending a boarding-school at the moment. However, my father never concerned himself with the affairs of the estate and never taught me its proper management. If only I still had one, I would know who to turn to for advice.”

“I would have loved that.” Jared suddenly stopped and faced him. “I hope you will come and visit me when I return to the country. I can still teach you all that you need to know, right? Naturally, you are welcome to remain there for as long as you can stand to see my stupid mug every single day. Promise me that you will!”

Jensen laughed in the face of his enthusiasm. “I promise that I will as long as you promise not to call your exceptionally handsome face a stupid mug.”

“I can do that!”

Jensen laughed even harder. He was therefore startled when Jared’s thumb began to caress his cheek; he hadn’t noticed when he had taken off his glove.

“I could look at you forever,” murmured Jared.

Jensen’s eyes widened when he began to trail his thumb across his face; tracing his eyes, nose, lips and freckles.

“The moment I saw you… I just… I couldn’t look away... I couldn’t think properly… I knew that I wanted to… I...” He shook his head. “Is it unnatural?”

“Unnatural?” stuttered Jensen too caught up in the sensation of being touched with such reverent tenderness.

“Isn’t it punishable by law? To crave another man in such a way?”

Jensen shuddered. “I… certain acts are against the law, that’s true. But what you’re feeling – no one can punish you for that but yourself – should you choose the path of self-castigation.”

“But isn’t it unnatural?” repeated Jared his query.

Jensen frowned.

He took Jared’s hand in his. “Does it feel unnatural?” he asked.

He held his breath as he waited for the answer.

Jared shook his head. “It feels as natural as anything I’ve ever felt.”

Jensen smiled. “I believe that should be your answer then.”

“I feel like I want to write verses praising every single feature of your face.”

“I suppose as long as you choose not to publish them, you should be quite safe from the gallows.”

Jared threw his head back and laughed.


	11. Chapter 11

Jensen was in excellent spirits, having enjoyed a fine day’s sport with Jared by his side, until he entered the drawing-room and stopped dead at the sight of one of the guests there. Mark Pellegrino was standing with his back to the hearth, his arms spread on top of the mantelpiece, talking to Murray. Jensen felt an instant surge to retreat. He hadn’t been aware that the man was of the party and the news that they were staying in the same house was about as pleasant as being suddenly thrown into a snake pit.

Jensen didn’t know him in person but like everyone else in society he’d heard enough about the man and his proclivities to wish himself on the other side of the earth. The rumours about his many lovers, both male and female, and what they endured at his hands were a constant throbbing mixture of fear and lust that fuelled the desire of the metropolis for the sensational and the horrific. The stories usually involved all kinds of depraved sexual practices, ancient rituals and sacrificial offerings; blood, gore, mutilated flesh, scorched eyes, missing body parts and occasional corpses beyond recognition.

Jensen took a deep breath and walked inside, spotting Misha, Jared and Matt sitting together and quietly conferring amongst themselves at the other end of the room, as though wishing to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the worst deviant in the kingdom. He foolishly expected that Murray and Pellegrino would pay him no mind and therefore felt his blood run cold when he heard –

“Mr Ackles, I presume? We have not had the pleasure of being formally introduced. May I have the honour?”

Jensen pulled himself together and turned around to face the other man. He bowed.

“I’m afraid I do not know whose honour I am to oblige, Mr – ?”

Pellegrino roared with laughter. “Charming! However, why not?” He introduced himself and added, “I have heard so much about you” – he looked at his watch – “in the last hour alone. My dear friend, Mr Murray, appears unable to speak of little else.”

Jensen raised an eyebrow at that and not wishing to prolong the scene bowed again and proceeded across the room towards his friends, the short distance giving him just enough time to puzzle over the fact that anyone who was such close friends with Jared could also be friends with Pellegrino.

“Good God, what is he doing here?” he hissed upon taking a seat on the arm of Misha’s chair.

“You mean the devil himself?” asked Misha quietly. “Well, I have had time to reflect on the matter and I have come up with a theory. Unfortunately, you won’t like it. I’m not certain I like it myself. Nay! I know I don't. I have come here expecting to be entertained, after all…”

Jensen prompted him to proceed with an impatient gesture of his hand.

“I’m sure you must have noticed how thin our company has become,” pointed out Misha.

Jensen blinked and looked around the room; he had been so much struck by Pellegrino’s presence the change in their numbers had all but escaped his notice.

“Murray sent everyone else away?” he asked in bewilderment. “Why?”

“I imagine because he must have already settled upon the mode of tonight’s entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” asked Jared. “What does that mean?”

“It means that with Pellegrino here – we are the tonight's entertainment,” explained Misha grimly.

“Surely not!” exclaimed Jensen.

“Oh, come on, man!” cried Jared with a grin. “That can’t be so.”

Misha looked from one to another, his upper lip curled into a sneer. “I declare, you were made for each other. So stupidly naïve it is beyond me!”

“Hey – !” began Jared but Jensen put a restraining hand on his shoulder; their intimacy had progressed a great deal in the course of the afternoon.

“Don’t mind Misha,” he said soothingly, giving him a small smile. “He is just sore that he came here for nothing and that his expectations have been deceived. But what do you think?” he asked, turning to Matt next. “Do you happen to have a theory too?”

“I’m afraid I must concur with Count Dmitri,” replied Matt Cohen. “It does not bode well.”

“Gentlemen!”

They all jumped.

Murray clapped his hands together, one of his eyebrows raised in silent query.

“I have been informed that dinner is ready. Shall we?”

Despite Misha's grim predictions the dinner passed peacefully enough. Murray divided his attention between Jared and Pellegrino, leaving Matt, Misha and Jensen to themselves. Jensen didn't mind.

It was after dinner, however, that he was startled out of his complacent mood, considerably mellowed by several glasses of brandy, by Murray who then asked Jared and Misha to distribute the game they had brought from the hunt among all the poor families of the parish.

“With my best compliments!” he cried. “Make sure they know exactly who their benefactor is.”

Misha and Jared had no choice but to comply, leaving Jensen with an unpleasant feeling of foreboding he could not get rid of. Thus, as soon as they were gone, Jensen decided to bid good-night to the others and retire to his room. However, before he’d had the chance to do just that, Pellegrino proposed a game of cards. Jensen politely declined. Even with the generous allowance that his uncle had settled upon him he knew better than to play against Pellegrino and Murray.

"Ha! I knew you'd say that!" cried Murray, a smug look upon his arrogant face. "I told Pellegrino as much. Does this mean that you forfeit?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you forfeit?"

"I am merely declining a game of cards. I do not understand your meaning. How can I forfeit a game – if it is the card game you are referring to – without having played one?"

"Well then, consider it the rule of the house, Ackles. You decline to play – you forfeit the game and must therefore face your punishment."

It was the most ridiculous notion he had ever heard. However, Jensen hoped that by agreeing to consider the matter as such he would put a stop to its further discussion.

"Very well.” He sighed. “I forfeit. I am ready to face my punishment."

"Are you, really?" asked Pellegrino in a smooth voice, leaving his armchair and moving towards Jensen so swiftly Jensen was forced to make an involuntary step back in order to have enough distance left between himself and the other man.

He shook his head. "Good God! This nonsense has gone long enough, I declare. I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen."

He was about to turn when he found his forearm imprisoned in an iron grip. Jensen started, turned around and looked at Pellegrino with wide eyes. What on earth was going on?!

"I would be much obliged to you, sir, if you released me," he said coldly. "I do not appreciate being manhandled."

"I will do more than that, Mr Ackles, if you do not obey," said Pellegrino in a pleasant voice that, however, did little to disguise the issued threat.

Jensen's heart began to pound in his chest.

"I see by that bewildered look in your pretty eyes that you have not yet grasped the situation here. Not to worry. Not to worry. I shall explain it shortly."

Jensen tried tugging his arm out of Pellegrino's grip only to have the latter’s fingers tighten around it, all but cutting off blood circulation there.

"My friend – ” he inclined his head towards Murray “ – wishes to teach you a lesson. I, on the other hand, just want to enjoy myself. Funnily enough, both can be achieved through the same means. I love a good chase, Mr Ackles, and something tells me that I shall greatly enjoy chasing you."

"Except I have no intention of taking part in your sick games," said Jensen, raising his chin and staring challengingly at his captor.

"Except you shall find that you have very little choice in the matter," mimicked Murray.

Jensen glared at him. "Jared and Misha will not stand for this."

"Jared and Misha will find themselves unexpectedly detained, won't they?"

Jensen gritted his teeth against the mockery. He was much more concerned with the meaning behind Murray's words. Unfortunately, he knew that he wouldn't tell him anything if he asked. He could, however, stand his ground.

"So you have devised some nefarious manner in which to keep them away," he said. "But their absence though a material disadvantage will not make me comply."

"Mr Ackles, you really cannot afford to be so self-righteous about it. I would prefer you to do willingly as I say. However, I am not above using force and my favourite here – "

At his words a thick black riding crop tore through the air with an ominous whistle – then hit the floor with a sickening crack

 Jensen jumped; then cursed himself for it.

"But before I do that," continued Pellegrino, "I would like you to consider the repercussions of your actions – should you force my hand as it were..."

“Then you should go right to using force and your favourite here,” said Jensen fiercely, pointing at the horsewhip with the other hand; it trembled just a trifle, he was proud to note. “I doubt anything you have to say can induce me to willingly do your bidding.”

“How valiantly he speaks!” crowed Pellegrino, finally letting him go. “And yet so rashly. Oh, dear! I think I forgot to mention one little circumstance that will ensure your cooperation and obedience in the end. You see, Mr Ackles, as I was following my harrier this afternoon, I came upon a very – ah – touching scene...”

Jensen’s eyes widened again. “No...”

“Indeed.” Pellegrino chuckled. “Naturally, I came to a halt to have a better look, bitterly regretting that I should be carrying a gun instead of a pencil and some paper. What a lovely sketch it would have made!”

“What do you want?” gritted out Jensen, clenching his hands into fists.

“I want to remind you that in your current situation you can hardly afford to have certain unfortunate rumours concerning your unnatural predilections to crop up in conversation about town – and so close to the season too!”

Jensen flushed.

“Still,” continued Pellegrino, “while your situation cannot be helped, not at present at any rate, Mr Padalecki’s situation and character are as yet unblemished by circumstances of unfortunate nature. Suffice to say that it would be a real shame to see his reputation ruined because of an indiscretion. Surely you would not wish to see him lose his social standing and his future wife and suffer disgust and ostracism of his peers?”

Jensen’s knuckles turned white. “What is it that you wish me to do?”

“Just play my sick little game as you called it,” crooned Pellegrino. “That’s all.”

“What does this little game of yours entail?” asked Jensen with mounting trepidation, his voice now no more than a whisper.

“I wish to chase you.”

“You – wish – to – chase – me?” repeated Jensen skeptically, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. “On foot?”

Murray let out a cackle of laughter, making Jensen start. “Well, he has got half of it right.”

“You will be on foot,” replied Pellegrino. “I will be on horseback.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” remarked Jensen.

“I never said that it would be fair, did I? I only ever said that I would enjoy chasing you.” He gave Jensen a smile and clapped him on the cheek. Jensen slapped his hand away and took a step back. “I will give you a head start of course. Even though,” added Pellegrino, looking at his slapped away hand with displeasure, “you hardly deserve it.”

“Now?” asked Jensen impatiently, grinding his teeth into a fine powder.

“Oh, no. Not until you have changed into something more appropriate for the occasion. Cohen!”

Jensen whirled around; he had all but forgotten about the other man’s presence.

Matt unfolded himself from the armchair and approached them.

“I’m sure you know which accoutrement will please me the most,” said Pellegrino. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Matt nodded and motioned for Jensen to follow him. Jensen seethed as he followed him out of the room.

“By-the-by, the chase doesn’t end until I have my whip wrapped around any part of your body,” cried Pellegrino in their wake.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a damp, cold, cloudy night with barely a moonbeam in sight – yet Jensen was an excellent mark for an experienced hunter in his ivory-coloured silk corset, white linen hooped skirt and a towering powdered wig frizzed out of proportion. His heart was thundering in his chest that had been impressed into his back as though by iron bands as he made his way through the brush, having lost a pair of high-heeled, buckled shoes some time ago after he tripped over a fallen branch and almost broke his neck, his stocking-clad feet tied by pink garters – the sight of which he would never un-see even in a thousand years – sinking into damp soft soil. A whalebone stay squeezed his broad chest so tightly he could hardly draw breath and the width of the hoop skirt he had been forced to wear made it impossible for him to retreat into the thicket and maneuver his way among thickly-growing trees and bushes there, forcing him to move in the open instead. His bare arms were covered in goose-bumps yet fat beads of sweat rolled down his back, his breathing harsh and loud in his ears.

Pellegrino had given him a head start all right but Jensen could already hear his enormous black stallion's heavy approach, the whistle of the man’s riding crop cackling through the air. Jensen's knees trembled and buckled under him as he continued to run, wheezing and clutching the stitch in his side, the hoop skirt swaying like a bark caught in a storm, a rigid contraption around his upper-body tightening with every searing breath that he took. Damnation! The galloping beast of a horse was upon him. Pellegrino's maniacal laughter was roaring in his ears. He would never make it. The horsewhip cut through the muggy air inches away from his elbow, snagging on the flounces of his overskirt. The next moment Pellegrino pulled the whip and Jensen went flying backwards in a grotesque imitation of a backflip, just like a puppet on a string, landing on his back with a thud, his legs stuck in the air – the stallion’s hot breath right in his face as it pawed the ground and neighed, baring its teeth, right above him. Jensen felt like a hare that had been hounded within an inch of his life by a pack of harriers. Any moment now Pellegrino would wrap his whip around any part of his body…

A gunshot rang through the air. Pellegrino’s horse reared on its hind legs with a shrill yell. Jensen had just enough presence of mind to roll out of harm’s way when another gunshot followed. The riding crop glowed in the dark – its owner hissed – before it fell to the ground.

“Get away from him, Pellegrino,” came a furious voice Jensen vaguely recognized as Jared’s. “Or I swear to God I will shoot you.”

Jensen didn’t remember closing his eyes or drifting into unconsciousness but the next thing he knew he was looking into Jared’s anxious face, his eyes wide, his eyebrows furrowed.

“He’s gone,” said Jared quietly, stroking Jensen’s clammy cheek with a trembling hand. “Jensen? Do you hear me? Do you know who I am?”

Jensen nodded and closed his eyes in shame; a tear ran down the side of his face, curved under his chin and settled in the crook of his neck. Now that a curtain had been drawn over the horrific scene he took stock of the situation. He was lying on his back, his legs spread wide open within the space of the skirt, whose hoops continued to wriggle all around him. His insides had been flattened into a pulp. Or so it felt.

Jared stared at him in alarm when an ugly sound between a rattle and a hiss crawled out of his mouth when Jensen tried to take a gulp of air – but the whalebone bindings around his ribcage would not let him fill his lungs.

“Jensen, what is it? Are you hurt?”

Jensen shook his head. “I... do not think so...” he managed to rasp at length. “However... it is imperative... that I should get... to my feet...”

“Of course! I am such an idiot! Of course, you must want to get to your feet!” exclaimed Jared, shaking his head and slapping himself across his forehead. “Hold on.”

He gently pushed his hand beneath Jensen’s upper-body and splayed it against his back; Jensen marveled at how big and comfortable it felt there. Then, using the length and the strength of his arm, Jared carefully lifted him upwards. He positioned himself behind him so that Jensen could lean against him for support. However, alarmed by Jensen’s elaborate breathing, he put his hands around Jensen’s waist and turned him around so that he could see his face. Jensen looked up at Jared when the other man let out a gasp.

“What is it?” asked Jensen sharply.

“N-nothing,” stammered Jared.

“Jared?”

“Forgive me.” Jared shook his head. “My thoughts are most inappropriate.”

“How so?”

“I’m afraid that I cannot stop thinking about how small – how absolutely tiny – your waist is. By Jove! It fits in my hand. Look!”

“I don’t doubt that,” muttered Jensen, looking away instead. He flushed with mortification and struggled for breath. “However, you shall find that I am not actually shaped like a human ewer and that my waist is not so very tiny after all once you loosen the lacing. Will you be so kind as to oblige me?” he asked coldly, turning around so fast he felt sick and lightheaded.

Jared began to apologize but Jensen cut him off by raising his hand. “I understand,” he said softly. “Just… please… I would like to have the ability to breathe in air again...”

Jared went to work.

Jensen closed his eyes; Jared’s words had brought back the memory of Matt Cohen’s remark earlier that night – “I know scores of women who would murder for a waist like yours,” – he said with a smirk – “and I know just as many men who would give their first-born sons for a sight of you dressed up like that. By-the-by, speaking of that, I could help you there... I know… certain people... I could find you a wealthy patron, you know. Rowena’s Place is an excellent joint for conducting transactions of such kind. You would never want for money...”

Jensen had been too shocked to speak. Matt must have regarded his silence as compliance for he chose that moment to place his mouth on his. Thankfully, Jensen’s instincts had kicked into action then; his words not falling far behind. He had pushed him away and hissed, “I know for a fact that you do not have a first-born son to give and I cannot accept anything less.” Matt had laughed at that and added, “You will need that kind of spirit for when Pellegrino is chasing you on his mighty beast.”

Jensen shuddered and wished for it all to have been but a horrible dream.

He should have spat in his stupid face. Or punched him until he bled. How would his patrons like him with a black eye and a broken nose? Jensen began to shake with fury that had been simmering just below the surface. Jared cursed and his hands began to pull at the ribbons with reinforced vigour.

“I’m sorry, Jensen,” he said. “I know you must be cold but I am so bloody clumsy and these things are so tightly bound! How did you do it?”

“I... didn’t.”

Jared’s hands stilled.

“Who – ?”

“Matt. He… dressed me.”

“He dressed you?” repeated Jared slowly, his fingers, perhaps, unwittingly, tugging at the lacing. “Did he… did he… see you unclothed?”

Jensen nodded. Jared tightened his grip on the lace, making Jensen gasp and jerk backwards.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cried next and resumed his task of unlacing the corset. Jensen thought it better not to inform him that Matt had likewise groped his behind, fondled his privates, twisted his nipples and kissed his lips. Jared was an excellent shot but a duel would only end in bloodshed or worse – a scandal – and would incriminate them all in something too enormous for any of them to handle.

Jensen swallowed hard but a moment later released a profound sigh of relief when Jared declared that he had finished. Jensen pulled out of the stay and dropped it to the ground as though it was on fire. His cheeks were aflame with shame and his head felt hot and crawling with something that made him twitch until he remembered that he was still wearing a moth-eaten wig that must have been infested with bugs and maybe even mice. He wished the previous generation had paid more attention to hygiene and spent less time on turning items of clothing into torture devices.

He tore off the wig and threw it as far as it would go. It hit a trunk of a tree with a very satisfying thud. He stepped out of the hooped skirt next. Then divested himself of garters and stockings. He wished he could set it all on fire. Unfortunately, even a blaze would not erase any of it from his memory. He stood shivering in nothing but a flimsy – “That’s what women call a chemise,” said Matt – that hung loosely about him, though its wide flouncy collar was stretched across his broad chest.

“Here,” said Jared softly, taking off his greatcoat and giving it to him. “We should go. Count Dmitri is waiting in his curricle at the edge of the field.” He looked questioningly at Jensen’s bare feet. “Should I, perhaps...”

Jensen’s eyes widened. “You will not be carrying me!” he protested, swelling with indignation. “Damnation! I am more than capable of walking on my own two feet, Jared. I am not a blasted female! Let not the outfit deceive you. You’d better find another way to sweep me off my feet!”

“I didn’t mean – I wasn’t implying – Jensen – wait! Count Dmitri’s curricle is that way – ”

Jensen let out a roar of fury and stomped in the direction Jared had pointed.

“Thank God!” exclaimed Misha when he saw them. “Look at the time. I was beginning to – what in blazes – ?”

Jensen ignored his friend’s exclamations and stares as he climbed into the curricle and crossed his arms on his chest. He knew how deranged he must look and the knowledge of it did nothing to improve his mood.

“There’s an inn a few miles away,” said Jared once he mounted his horse. “I will go ahead to hire rooms. Count Dmitri, if you would be so kind as to follow the main road. I...”

Jensen could feel Jared’s eyes on him but refused to meet them. He was afraid of what he would find there. He burrowed further into Jared’s enormous greatcoat instead.

“Right.” Jared cleared his throat. “I shall see you soon then.” He galloped away.

Misha pulled the reins and they followed behind at a trot. Jensen counted seconds until Misha broached the subject of his night-time adventure. He knew better than to avoid answering his friend’s queries and simply steeled himself for the inevitable. Sure enough –

“Jensen, what the hell happened while we were gone?”

Jensen snorted. “Let’s see...” he began grimly. “I was forced into wearing a female dress that was fashionable about thirty years ago, all set with a smelly wig, a whalebone corset – fully-boned, mind you! – a hooped skirt, a pair of silk stockings bound by pink garters, and high-heeled shoes with embroidered buckles. I was informed that I looked like a whore. I was encouraged to find myself a wealthy patron and to commit myself to buggery for money on a regular basis. I was chased by a monstrous black horse through the mud and I was in imminent danger of having Pellegrino’s riding crop wrapped around an unnamed part of my body. Hm! I believe that account should suffice to sum it up nicely.”

Misha was staring at him in horror.

“And this is all my fault!” he exclaimed.

“How come? Did you orchestrate all of the above?”

“No! Of course not. How could you – ?”

“Then I do not see how you are to blame for any of it.”

“I insisted on our coming here,” pointed out Misha. “I brought you here.”

“I wanted to come. You know I did. You know my reasons – my reason – for coming.”

Misha shook his head as he squinted at the road ahead. “Well, at least your reason for coming didn’t involve wishing to commit debauchery in the arms of women and, possibly, men of ill repute.”

“I wish you would not blame yourself for what happened,” said Jensen quietly. “I need my friend, Misha. I… I want to forget it ever happened and I won’t be able to do that if I keep catching you looking at me with pity and guilt in your eyes. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?”

Misha nodded and Jensen sighed with relief.

*

“I took the liberty of ordering a bath to be drawn,” said Jared, throwing a quick look at Jensen, as he led them up the creaking stairs of the inn to their rooms on the second floor about an hour later; “I thought you would wish to – I mean – you don’t have to – I just thought – ”

“Thank you, Jared,” said Jensen softly. “I appreciate your concern. I do need to take a bath.”

“I also ordered a small repast. I thought we could all do with some sustenance despite the lateness of the hour.”

“What about a drink?” asked Misha. “I declare we could all do with that too.”

“Naturally.” Jared inclined his head; Jensen didn’t like to see him so subdued. “The inn-keeper’s wife brews her own ale. It is said to be very potent.”

“Ha!” cried Misha. “I dare say the inn-keeper’s ruddy face and bloodshot eyes are testament to that.”

They entered a sparsely furnished parlour with fire in the hearth and three steaming bowls on the table; half a dozen tallow candles hissing and spitting here and there.

“Ahhhh...” sighed Misha, gleefully rubbing his hands together at the sight of three large tankards. He rushed towards the table, scooped one of the tankards and began to drink, gulping and moaning loudly as he did so.

Jensen shook his head.

“I could sup in my room,” suggested Jared quietly.

Jensen tore his amused gaze from Misha and looked sharply at him. “Why?”

“Why? I didn’t think you’d want to see me ever again after what happened.”

“After what happened?” asked Jensen, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. “Jared, you rescued me!”

Jared snorted bitterly. “If I hadn’t insisted on Murray inviting you – well – you wouldn’t have needed to be rescued in the first place, would you?”

Jensen shook his head. “It was not your fault, Jared. You didn’t come up with that scheme.”

“I would never – !”

“I know, Jared. I know. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t want to see me ever again after what you have witnessed – after what you have seen me wearing – I’m surprised you can even find it in yourself to speak to me. I dare say you must find me utterly revolting to look at.”

“Find you utterly revolting to look at?” Jared looked aghast. “How can you even think such a thing? Don’t you ever say that to me again! Ever. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Jensen nodded and gave him a sweet smile. “However, I’m afraid I cannot quite comply with your – er – ardent request until you give me your promise that – ”

Jared threw his arms in the air. “Fine! I won’t blame myself. Fine. Happy?”

“Quite.”

Misha snorted into his tankard. Except –

“Hey!” cried Jensen. “That one’s mine! I saw what you did there, Misha. Don’t you dare – !”

Misha shrugged. “I’m afraid some of us need something more than simply gazing into each other’s orbs to get properly bamboozled.”

With these words, he raised Jensen’s tankard to his mouth, sloshed some of its content onto himself and took another large gulp.


	13. Chapter 13

“Pellegrino told me that he saw us on the grounds of the estate during the hunt while we were… conversing… and threatened to expose you to censure and ostracism of the world,” said Jensen when they were sitting warm and snug in old winged armchairs in front of the fire, having sufficiently filled their bellies with food and composed their spirits with drink.

Misha was snoring loudly in the adjoining room.

“He said that he would ruin you if I didn’t... didn’t comply,” continued Jensen after a moment’s pause. “He is a powerful man. I expect a vindictive one too. I fear that depriving him of his sport tonight will not fail to bring about some terrible retribution upon our heads. Especially now that you have cut ties with Murray. If I know one thing about your former friend it is that he will not stand for this. He does not take losing well and while I do not care about my lot in the matter I cannot allow anything to happen to you.”

Jared shook his head. He then stretched out his arm and cupped the side of Jensen’s face in the palm of his hand, his thumb rubbing a small circular pattern just below his lower lip. Jensen turned to look at him and was overwhelmed by the look of profound tenderness that the other man had fixed upon him. His breath got caught in his throat at the depth and the intent of that gaze.

“Jared?” he whispered.

“Do not worry about Murray or Pellegrino, Jensen,” said Jared calmly, now slowly tracing his lips. “They will do nothing. There will be no retribution to follow. Pellegrino was acting entirely on Murray’s instigation but since the latter’s plan did not proceed as far as he had hoped it would he will not attempt it a second time now that he knows that I know that he was the one behind it.”

Jared shook his head. “I never saw that dark and dangerous side of him until tonight and as such I never knew what he was truly capable of. However, I have finally seen the blackguard behind the guise of a gentleman that he had been presenting to me all these years and I shall not be duped again.”

Jensen placed his hand over Jared’s, turned his head ever so slightly before pressing a number of small kisses to the centre of his palm, effecting a very satisfying intake of breath.

He smiled.

“I hope you will not consider me an insensitive wart to pry into the matter under the circumstances,” he said after a short pause during which he proceeded to caress Jared’s hand that was now lying palm up in one of his, “but it has been tormenting me since the moment I met you. How come you and Murray were such great friends in the first place? What could have possibly been the foundation of such an unlikely friendship? You are nothing alike!”

Jared cleared his throat. Jensen noticed that he looked extremely bashful all of a sudden. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and tried to tug the other from Jensen’s grip undoubtedly in order to push it through his floppy hair as he was wont to do when embarrassed or agitated. Jensen held on tight and wouldn’t let go.

“Well – If you must know – ” began Jared at length, not meeting his eye “ – to tell you the truth – I do not mean to brag or anything – not that I would – all things considered – I mean it was no big deal – in any case – ”

“Jared!”

“I sort of saved his life. There!” he blurted out in the end.

Jared looked quickly at Jensen, his expression sheepish, his shoulders forming an apologetic shrug, as though he now thought that it had been an ill-advised thing to have done.

“Ah.”

A short silence ensued while Jensen wrapped his mind around the fact.

“That would, of course, explain it.”

Jared nodded.

“Which is why I am convinced that he will do nothing that will directly harm me,” he said with conviction. “He will likewise keep Pellegrino in check.”

Jensen stood up and poked the fire in the hearth, pondering Jared’s words. He almost fell headfirst into the fireplace when he felt Jared’s giant palms on his hips.

“We are returning to London,” said Jared when Jensen turned around to face him. “My engagements being what they are,” he continued as he put his hands around Jensen’s neck and lifted his chin up, “I am not sure how soon I will be able to see you or do this...”

He dipped his head. Jensen stood up on his toes. Their lips met.

The kiss started slow, timid and tender – before turning urgent, bold and voracious. Jensen wrapped his arms around Jared, their chests pressed together. It made him feel right where he belonged. But he did not understand it. How was it possible to feel like this? They had known each other less than a week – and yet it felt as though they had known each other all their lives…


	14. Chapter 14

About a week after his return to London, Jensen surprised both his mother and uncle by announcing that he would be joining them for the evening.

“This is quite a change, I declare!” exclaimed Mrs Ackles, looking at him in astonishment. “I was under the impression that you decided to live a life of a hermit till the end of your days. Pray, to what are we to attribute such sudden desire to attend a social event?”

“It is quite simple, really. I have not changed my mind, mother. I do not imagine that I can benefit from attending social events these days. I do not find them entertaining. I am not looking for a wife and I can hardly qualify as an eligible match to any young lady in attendance. Not to mention that I am still in mourning and it is only natural that I should be avoiding balls and such.”

“Pshaw!” cried Mrs Ackles. “We can hardly afford to be so particular under the circumstances.”

“In any case, I am merely driven to attend tonight’s gathering by curiosity. I wish to see how my pupil will acquit himself during the dance.”

“Your pupil? I was not aware that you took up tutoring, Jensen. Please, tell me that you have not fallen so low! Heavens!”

Jensen laughed. “I did not mean quite so literally, mother. There is no need for your smelling salts. I am merely referring to a new acquaintance I made about a fortnight ago. He comes from the country and enlisted my help in polishing his dancing manner. He will be attending tonight’s ball for the first time since I took up the office of his dancing master and I would very much like to see if I have managed to make a positive impression on his technique.”

“But who is this young man? I have not heard you mention him before. He is young, is he not? Does he have any property? Is he handsome? Do you think he will be a good match for your sister?”

Jensen checked the wish to roll his eyes. “Mother, he is attending the party in order to impress the young lady who is to be his wife ere long,” he replied.

Mrs Ackles looked most displeased at that. “I wish you would think about your sister, Jensen, and form new acquaintances with unattached young men rather than those who have already been taken. It seems like such a waste to make an acquaintance neither you nor your family will benefit in any way from. It is a good thing that we can count on your dear uncle – “ she threw a rather misty-eyed look in his direction “ – for you do not at all think of us!”

“Indeed! How positively heartless of me! But I’m afraid I prefer to form my friendships with people based on something other than how useful they can be,” he replied coldly as he got to his feet. “Excuse me.”

He had not made more than half a dozen steps when he heard the unmistakable sound of his uncle’s assured tread behind him.

“Jensen?”

Jensen stopped, took a deep breath and turned around with a rather pained smile upon his face. He inclined his head slightly.

“I’m sorry, uncle. I should not have spoken in such a manner to my mother and I definitely should not have stormed out like that.”

“I have not followed you in order to scold you, Jensen,” said Sir Jeffrey kindly.

“Oh.”

Jensen took another deep breath, suddenly feeling like a small boy under his uncle’s speculative gaze. He was startled when his uncle chuckled. Jensen raised an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, my boy,” said Sir Jeffrey, shaking his head. “I must confess that I was not a little surprised by your earlier admission. You see, I was under the impression that you have been paying court to some lucky young lady all this time. But you have been merely teaching your new friend how to dance! Imagine my surprise.”

Jensen’s eyes widened and his heart began to beat rather fast in his chest.

“P-paying c-court?” he stuttered. “I don’t understand – why would you – ?”

“Well! I mean to say! You have not been around much since your return from that hunting party and whenever you arrived home your countenance would invariably glow in that animated yet vacant manner that one usually sees on the face of someone in love.”

Jensen paled; then forced himself to let out a laugh; but it was so hollow it made him cringe inside.

“There is no lucky young lady, sir,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes, unable to stand his uncle’s penetrating gaze any more. “I remain betrothed to Miss Harris until she decides to release me.”

“Miss Harris. Oh; yes, of course. Well! I dare say, my boy, one’s heart often – ”

“There is no other young lady in my life, uncle,” said Jensen firmly, meeting his gaze.

Sir Jeffrey looked rather baffled at being interrupted. He stared at his nephew for another long moment. Jensen held his breath, wondering if he had committed an error of judgment. Finally, Sir Jeffrey nodded and put on his customary affable smile.

“May I tempt you with a game of billiards, perhaps?” he asked.

Jensen relaxed. “It would be my pleasure, uncle, you know that.” He smiled but it wasn’t quite genuine.

Suffice it to say that his mind was not on the game that day. However, Jensen exerted himself most powerfully and after a passage of time managed to compose himself to a certain degree, which then allowed him to maintain an air of pleasing solicitousness towards his uncle, making sure in a variety of ways, including losing, that he was no longer unhappy with him by the end of the game. Jensen could not stand displeasing him for the world. However, despite his uncle’s display of forgiveness in that open and warm manner with which he proceeded to treat him, Jensen could not be insensible to certain uneasiness that continued to linger at the back of his mind.

How fervent did he wish that Sir Jeffrey would not attach too much significance to their conversation in the hall and that he would attribute his animated but vacant expression to something other than being in love by the time of the party at which he would meet Jared. He had already expressed his desire of being introduced to him and Jensen could hardly refuse to do so without inciting incredulity, suspicion and offense. But what of his sentiments then? How was he to disguise them from further detection? He was not practiced at concealing his emotions in general, considering with what ease and frequency people remarked upon them, but it appeared that his unaccountable yet powerful feelings for Jared made him more of an open book than he had ever been.

All in all, Jensen did not expect to derive any pleasure from the upcoming ball other than to behold Jared and to amuse himself at his expense. Jared had proved a most inattentive pupil as far as dancing was concerned. He could never keep his mind on the figures and the steps, nor could he keep his hands to himself or maintain that proper distance that was supposed to exist between dancing partners, which meant that nine times out of ten they inevitably ended up with their limbs intertwined and their mouths firmly attached as they rutted against each other in a frenzy of pure lust.

Jensen did not mind that particular part, of course, soiled breeches notwithstanding, but such proceedings rather ruined the actual purpose of their encounters – Jared was an abysmal dancer! – and prompted Jensen, much to his chagrin, to protest most vehemently that they should not proceed to more intimate matters until Jared had managed to complete the set without a mistake – for Jensen, he staunchly declared, would not be responsible for his failure.

Therefore, on the day before the ball, Jared greeted him with the following words –

“Mr Ackles,” he said with a very formal bow as he ushered him into his modest temporary lodgings and bolted the door behind him, “I’m sure you will be pleased to know that I have been practicing most diligently all morning.”

Jensen raised an eyebrow at that astonishing pronouncement. “Indeed? I wonder what could have possibly induced you to do so,” he said archly, “considering that you have been anything but diligent on all previous occasions.”

Jared grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It occurred to me that the sooner we get through the set, the sooner I can proceed to ravish you. Besides,” he added with a more serious countenance, “I would not wish you to see me fail when you have spent so much of your time and effort ensuring that I don’t. I’m sure I shall prove to you that I can be a very good pupil and that I remember all your instructions well.”

Hence, to prove his word, Jared took Jensen through the set without mixing or missing any steps, forgetting any figures or confusing the difference between turning and swinging his partner. By the end of the set, Jensen, dancing the part of the lady, had been properly swept off his feet, his hands tingling whenever Jared took them in his, considering that it was the only part of their bodies that was allowed to touch while performing a dance.

“You will do very well indeed,” said Jensen softly in the end. He kissed each of Jared’s dimples before moving onto his eager lips.

Much later, upon conclusion of their more vigorous activities, they were curled together in an armchair, Jensen half-lying on top of Jared, half-straddling him, twiddling the buttons of his waistcoat, his head tucked under Jared’s chin. It was nothing short of wonder that the armchair had not collapsed under the combined weight of their tall bodies and long limbs. However, decided Jensen, they were remarkably lean.

“I wish you were there with me,” said Jared trailing his hand from the top of Jensen’s head, down his back before settling on the curve of his behind, paying a great deal of attention to it. “I would be watching you then, making sure I did everything right.”

“Jared, you have to look at your dancing partner – not at another man in the set,” reminded him Jensen with a smile, grinding into his hand.

“But you are so much more appealing to look at! By Jove; you are too pretty to look away from. Not to mention that you are quite on my eye level. Miss Cortese, on the other hand, is frightfully short.”

Jensen looked up just in time to see Jared wrinkle his nose.

“I’m sorry, Jared,” he said with a small sigh, tucking his head back under his chin. “I cannot do that yet. I am still in mourning. However, my mother and uncle will be attending the ball and I intend to accompany them.”

“Good.” Jared kissed the top of his head and tightened his hold around him.

Jensen didn’t say anything more. However, in his heart of hearts he rather dreaded the arrival of tomorrow. Tomorrow the illusion that he had crafted and cherished in his mind would be shattered for good; reality would then replace it. Tomorrow at the ball he would finally meet Jared’s future wife…


	15. Chapter 15

Jensen hadn’t been to a ball since… He shook his head. No, he would not dwell on the past. He would not dwell on that which brought him nothing but pain and misery. Perhaps, his mother was right; perhaps, he had turned savage in the months that he had spent avoiding most of society. Now the number of carriages and people thronging the square in front of Lady Blackmore’s grand mansion made him uneasy to such a degree that he had half a mind to remain behind and order the carriage to drive off as soon as his mother and uncle vacated it. However, he promptly reminded himself that he had promised Jared to be there and quite apart from being a gentleman and always keeping his word he would be a fool to miss an opportunity to see Jared again. Furthermore, he could not fail Jared when he counted on his presence and moral support; no matter how painful Jensen would find watching him dance with someone else.

The mansion’s opulent drawing-room, glittering with the light of hundreds of candles that were melting, deforming and dripping wax from enormous chandeliers, was already crowded and its air suffocating by the time they had been ushered inside. Fluttering of fans, rustling of skirts, clamour of excited voices, peals of laughter and straining sounds of instruments created a great deal of confusion. Jensen took a deep breath. Mrs Ackles fluttered away as soon as they had been announced and greeted by their haughty hostess, apparently having spotted her dearest friends. Jensen scoffed at the appellation and followed his uncle through the crowd, bowing to his right and to his left, murmuring greetings and barely resisting the urge to gnash his teeth when his presence began to draw the attention of the assembly. It appeared that even in his sombre attire he could not but attract admiring stares.

“I believe you have just made a group of young ladies faint over there,” murmured Sir Jeffrey with a chuckle.

Jensen barely heard him. He was sweeping the room with an intent gaze of his narrowed eyes in search of a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a handsome young man with floppy hair, dimpled cheeks, wide grin and extremely long limbs. He spotted him almost at once for Jared Padalecki being at least a head taller than every other gentleman in the room was difficult to miss. Jensen beamed and would have raised his arm in a vigorous wave, forgetting proper manners and all, had he not been stopped by Count Dmitri, who appeared from within the crowd and blocked his path at that very moment.

“There you are, Ackles!” he cried, giving him a warning look and surreptitiously tugging his half-raised arm down.

Jensen blinked, taken aback at being so unexpectedly accosted. His eyes widened in horror the very next moment upon recollecting himself and he hastily put his hand behind his back just as Sir Jeffrey turned around to see what was going on.

“Ah! Count Dmitri,” he said, giving Jensen an unreadable look at the same time. Jensen frowned; the look had been so fleeting he wondered if he had imagined it.

Misha bowed. “Sir Jeffrey, a pleasure!” He turned his attention back to Jensen. “I have already greeted our country friend and met his petite fiancée.”

“I am rather looking forward to making his acquaintance myself,” said Sir Jeffrey. “Jensen has been extremely reticent on his account. I only know that my nephew has been spending a great deal of time in his company lately and that he is not a very good dancer.”

“He _was not_ a very good dancer, uncle,” corrected Jensen, willing himself not to blush as he caught Misha’s look. “However, I would not wish to deprive you of the pleasure. I believe he has spotted us.”

“Indeed,” snorted Misha with an amused shake of his head.

Jared was grinning and waving madly at them. Sir Jeffrey raised an eyebrow at such an unseemly display but didn’t comment. Jensen was beaming once again as they resumed their passage through the crowd that seemed to have thickened around them in the short time that they had remained stationary.

Jared appeared to be even more bouncy and eager than usual. It manifested itself in making his customary restless manner of standing even more pronounced. He was bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands wriggling incessantly at his sides, towering impossibly tall over every other person in vicinity. Jensen found it quite endearing – his uncle, however, did not.

“Dear Lord! I have never seen anyone less capable of standing still,” he remarked in astonishment. “He is like an eel nailed to the ceiling while trying to escape.”

“He is merely nervous and excited. I know the effect can be a bit overwhelming at first. However, he has not been exposed much to society and public gatherings such as this, having spent most of his life in the country.”

“Doesn’t know much about manners then, does he? Hmm… I begin to understand why you did not wish to tell me anything about him. I also begin to question the prudency of my actions. Had I known such particulars beforehand, I would never have expressed a wish to approach him. Too late now, however...”

“Honestly, uncle, he knows enough about good manners not to make you run away at the sight of him,” said Jensen, stung by his uncle’s words. He wanted him to approve of Jared. He wanted him to see how good he was. “He is a gentleman, after all. In any case, manners aren’t everything. I know some men whose manners are impeccable but who are so rotten inside I would not wish to know them for the world. There is goodness about him that draws you in.”

“Well, it is as plain as day that it has certainly drawn you in.”

Jensen flushed. “He is a fine man and I am most fortunate to have made his acquaintance,” he said with fervour that made his uncle stare at him a little too long just as they stopped in front of Jared and his two female companions.

Jared’s restlessness increased in proportion to his grin. However, Jensen’s eyes widened in alarm when Jared made an abrupt movement forward as though to embrace him. Fortunately, he stopped just in time. Jensen didn’t think Sir Jeffrey would approve if Jared greeted him with all the informality and familiarity of their private encounters. Their subsequent greeting was extremely proper and demure.

“Mr Ackles,” said Jared with a low bow.

“Mr Padalecki,” returned Jensen. “I would like you to meet my uncle, Lord Morgan. He was most keen to make your acquaintance.”

Jared’s eyes widened. He made another bow; then straightened up and gave a sheepish smile.

“I’m afraid I must apologize for my rustic manners, sir. I know many find them quite appalling.”

“I’m sure you can ask my nephew to fix them next,” said Sir Jeffrey. “In the meantime, I hope you will do us the honour of introducing us to these two lovely ladies.”

“Oh! Of course!” Jared nodded vigorously, his hair and hands flapping all around him. “Lord Morgan, Mr Ackles, allow me to introduce Mrs Cortese and Miss Cortese.”

The ladies smiled and curtsied. The gentlemen bowed. Jensen left it to his uncle to expound upon the pleasure their acquaintance had bestowed upon them. He dismissed Mrs Cortese without so much as glancing at her and fixed his full attention upon Miss Cortese instead. There was nothing particularly remarkable or even noticeable about her, he decided at once, except her mouth, which was too wide to be considered pretty. She was short, small and dark. Her eyes looked almost black and her eyebrows were too thick. Jensen hated her on sight. Or on principle. Or both. He did not care which.

She was certainly nothing in comparison to Danneel’s stunning beauty and bewitching charm. She repulsed him. Much more so when he realized that she was addressing him – thanking him, of all things, for instructing Jared in the art of dancing so that she didn’t have to spend the evening sitting down! Jensen curled his lips in what he hoped would pass for a smile. There was something foreign – a sort of lisping – when she spoke that particularly nettled him. He was grateful when the first dance was announced and he could take his leave without appearing rude.

“Dear Lord, Jensen, another minute and you would have succeeded in turning the poor girl into a neat pile of ashes,” whispered Misha when they took their place next to the wall so as to observe the dance.

“I do not know what you mean,” gritted out Jensen, his hands balled into fists.

Misha chuckled.

“How come you are not dancing?” asked Jensen.

“Oh, I do not wish to inflict the pain of disappointment upon any fair female present here today when they learn that a single dance, two at most, is all I can offer them.”

Jensen snorted. “Of course not.”

His countenance thawed into an instant smile when Jared caught his eye across the room. The music began to play, the couples began to move and Jensen and Jared continued to hold each other’s gaze. In fact, they proceeded to do so throughout the whole set, barring those moments of unimaginable torture when the dance figure required Jared to stand with his back to Jensen or to disappear out of his line of sight altogether. During one such moment Jensen’s attention was diverted by Mrs Smith’s surprising appearance for as his mother’s companion she generally never left her side.

“My dear madam,” said Sir Jeffrey, “you look positively troubled. Is something the matter?”

“Indeed, it is!” exclaimed the latter.

Jensen tore his gaze away from the dance and frowned.

“I could not stop her,” continued Mrs Smith, shaking her head and wringing her hands. “Mrs Ackles would heed neither my advice nor my warning.”

Jensen tensed. What has his mother done now?

“Madam, speak plainly,” said Sir Jeffrey sharply. “What is it?”

“Why, sir! Mrs Ackles took it into her head to play cards.”

“Well,” said Sir Jeffrey slowly, as though attempting to clear his befuddlement, “that is not so very unusual or troubling, is it? In fact, it is rather to be expected, I dare say, considering that she has very little else to entertain herself with before supper.”

“But she is playing against Lady Ruth!” whispered Mrs Smith, looking positively terrified.

Jensen looked at Sir Jeffrey, whose countenance had instantly transformed from bewilderment to rage. It was said that Lady Ruth never lost a game of cards and played very high stakes.

“Damnation! I should never have introduced her to that redheaded witch. Very well! I shall go and see what can be done before she ruins us all.”

Jensen offered to accompany him but was rather glad when the latter declined his offer. Jensen couldn’t find it in himself to oppose him. The last thing he wanted was to witness his mother making a fool of herself. It was a relief to catch Jared’s eye again.

Misha delicately cleared his throat beside him.

“Sir Jeffrey does not seem to approve of young Jared,” he said. “I fear he will not be too keen to bless your union.”

“Mish, please, don’t,” entreated Jensen. He was not in the mood for his friend’s jokes.

Misha fell silent. The dance came to an end soon afterwards and Jensen, whose smile had turned into a grimace of pain, watched Jared lead Miss Cortese towards refreshments.

“Jensen,” said Misha quietly but urgently as he followed his line of sight, “you must exert yourself. You must!”

“I cannot.”

“Jensen – ”

Misha fell silent when Jared appeared before them with a bounce and a grin.

“Well? How did I acquit myself? I did not disgrace you, did I? I declare I did not. However, what do you say?”

“You did extremely well,” said Jensen with a laugh. “I am quite proud of you.”

“Quite proud? But that’s not good enough! I must do better next time then.”

“I’m sure you would have accomplished more had you not been distracting me all the time,” teased Jensen.

Jared narrowed his eyes in mock offence.

“In that case, Mr Ackles, I must request you to step outside and give me further instructions before the next set begins.”

Jensen goggled at him when he realized that Jared was in earnest. “Now? But what about your partner? Shouldn’t you be attending her? Surely she will be expecting – ”

“I’m sure we can find an empty room somewhere here,” interrupted Jared. “To – er – practice,” he added hastily when he saw that Count Dmitri was about to speak.

But before Misha could do anything more than register his astonishment at such a scandalous conduct Jensen and Jared slipped through the crowd and taking one of the archways surrounding the ball-room disappeared out of sight. It was madness! Utter madness. Jensen knew as much; but for the life of him he did not wish it to pass.

They hurried along a semi-lit corridor, ignoring haughty looks of bewigged people in magnificent attires staring down at them from their heavily ornamented frames; after a number of turns they found themselves in an empty room, bathed in dapple moonlight and wrapped in silence.

Jared grabbed Jensen’s face and began to devour him with a kiss so intense Jensen’s vision blurred.

“Jared…” he gasped, clutching the taller man’s shoulders and feeling as though someone had hit him over the head with a poker. His ears were definitely ringing.

Jared grinned and lifted him upwards as though he had done it a thousand times before. Jensen’s legs wrapped themselves around Jared’s waist of their own accord as he squawked indignantly at such treatment. He knew he was blushing as he tightened his arms around Jared’s neck.

“This is extremely undignified,” he huffed, twirling a lock of Jared’s hair around his finger.

Jared laughed. “I wish I could carry you in my pocket wherever I go. You would make a very pretty pixie.”

“Pixie!”

Jensen’s squawk intensified. Jared chuckled and pecked him on the nose.

“You must concur that with your pretty face, forest green eyes, long eyelashes, impish freckles and trim waist you would make a fine pixie princess.”

Jensen shook his head.

“Silly giant,” he grumbled affectionately before ferociously attacking Jared’s mouth in retribution.

The moment Jensen reappeared in the ball-room, hoping that he managed to look as impeccable as he did upon entering it, Misha stared at him in horror before grasping him by the elbow and dragging him into a covert corner of the room behind an enormous orange tree.

“Good heavens, Ackles,” he hissed, “how many men used that mouth of yours in the last quarter of an hour? I swear you look like a whore.”

Jensen reeled in shock at the sudden verbal assault. He took a step back from his friend, feeling offended and mortified.

“Misha, what the hell?” he hissed back. “How dare you – ”

“I’d like to know that myself, Jensen. What the hell?” Misha was breathing heavily, looking incensed. “What in devil’s name has gotten into you? You act like a man possessed. I have never seen you so unguarded, so careless, so stupid and so utterly indiscreet in all the years that I’ve known you! I barely recognize you anymore. Since when do you make a habit of sneaking off with an affianced man like some cheap harlot while his future wife is waiting impatiently on his return?”

Jensen stared at his friend. Misha had never spoken to him in such a derogatory manner before. His shock turned to rage. How dare he? How dare he give him a dressing down? How dare he ruin what he had shared with Jared moments before? Damn it all to hell! He was a grown man. He would not be talked to like that even by his oldest friend!

“Misha, I do not like – ”

“Jensen? Is that you?”

Jensen’s stomach plummeted to the floor.

“Uncle Jeffrey?” he croaked.

“It is you! Well, I’ll be damned. What in blazes are you doing here?” Sir Jeffrey stepped from behind the tree and joined them, his eyebrows raised. “Count Dmitri too. Yes… I suppose I should have known…”

He looked extremely displeased. Jensen and Misha exchanged mystified looks.

“Never mind that now. I have been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“We were having a conversation and did not wish to be disturbed,” replied Jensen.

To his horror, Sir Jeffrey’s gaze fell to his lips.

“I see.”

Jensen blanched.

“Uncle – ”

“Mrs Smith is attending your mother into the carriage,” interrupted Sir Jeffrey brusquely. “We are leaving.”

“Leaving?” asked Jensen aghast. “But – ”

Sir Jeffrey narrowed his eyes.

“Is there a problem?”

Jensen shook his head.

“Good. Follow me. Now!”

Sir Jeffrey jerked his head in Misha’s direction with a sneer and stalked off. Jensen looked desperately at his friend, his previous anger with him gone. Misha rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I will convey your farewells and the urgency with which you had to depart to Padalecki.”

“Thank you, Mish.”

Jensen hurried off after Sir Jeffrey, his head bowed, his spirits crushed.


	16. Chapter 16

The drive back home was a rather gloomy affair. Jensen could not remember ever seeing his uncle in such a towering temper and he did not quite know how to account for it. He wished he could attribute Sir Jeffrey’s dark mood entirely to his mother’s doing. However, Jensen didn’t think that he’d imagined Sir Jeffrey’s coldness towards Misha or his marked displeasure upon finding them concealed behind a tree. But surely he had no reason to be either cold or displeased on either account?

Jensen frowned. Had he, perhaps, heard something being said about the two of them that made him suspicious? No, that wasn’t right. Surely there was no reason! But, perhaps, he had heard something else being said about him? Had someone seen him with Jared? Misha was right; they had not been all that discreet now that he thought of it. However, he hadn’t mentioned Jared at all! Then, it couldn’t be that, could it? Jensen’s head began to spin. It was all a mystery to him. He looked sideway at his uncle but his profile looked so forbidding he didn’t dare utter a word.

He was not, however, left long in the dark.

“Jensen, I wish to speak with you in my study,” said Sir Jeffrey as soon as Mrs Ackles and Mrs Smith had gone upstairs for the night.

Jensen nodded.

“We are not to be disturbed,” ordered Sir Jeffrey, dismissing the servants.

“I am sorry about my mother, uncle,” said Jensen upon joining him in his study a few moments later. “I hope she didn’t have time to lose another large sum.”

“I did not ask you here to talk about your silly goose of a mother and her incurable propensity for going into debt,” said Sir Jeffrey coolly, stopping behind his desk, his expression grim and ominous. “I shall deal with her later. Unfortunately, we are here to talk about your utterly abominable, disgraceful and reprehensible actions at the ball. Upon my word, I have never expected a display of such shocking impropriety and indecency from you, Jensen. Never!”

Jensen flushed crimson just as his heart sank through the floor.

“Uncle, I can explain – ”

Sir Jeffrey waved his hand and Jensen fell silent.

“I grant you sometimes a scandal can indeed turn the tide of one’s fortune and even elevate one in the eyes of society. But you don’t want this sort of scandal attached to your name, Jensen. Trust me on that. Flirting with one man in plain sight of such an esteemed gathering while sneaking off to commit sin with another! Have you no notion of shame? Have you no idea how dangerous such conduct is? A hint, Jensen! A single hint of such unnatural goings-on is all it takes to ruin a man forever! Is it Count Dmitri’s pernicious influence on you?”

Jensen shook his head, looking appalled.

“How long has this been going on then?”

“Uncle, I swear, I don’t know what you – ”

“Don’t lie to me, Jensen!” Sir Jeffrey pounded the table with his fist, making Jensen jump. “Do you think me blind or take me for a fool? I have watched you all evening. Do you think I didn’t see the way you were looking at that uncouth puppy or the way he was looking at you? You’d better hope that everyone else was too busy with their own affairs to notice the exchange! I repeat my question, Jensen. How – long – has – this – been – going – on?”

Jensen lowered his eyes to the floor but decided on telling the truth. There was no point in lying to his uncle when he held all the cards.

“I suppose from the moment I met Jared.” Jensen shrugged. “A fortnight at most.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then –

“From the moment you met Jared? A fortnight at most?” spluttered Sir Jeffrey in disbelief. “Dear Lord, Jensen! Are you out of all your senses? Does Count Dmitri know?”

Jensen frowned at the question. He could not quite understand the relevance of Misha’s knowledge to the case or his uncle’s interest in it. His confusion must have prompted Sir Jeffrey to reword his original query.

“Does he know that he has been supplanted as your lover by another? Is this what that covert meeting behind the tree was about?”

Jensen gaped at him.

“My lover? Misha? Good God! Misha?” Jensen shook his head. He would have laughed at his uncle’s ridiculous assumption but something told him that it wouldn’t go over too well at present. “Misha is not nor has he ever been my lover, uncle. He is my oldest and dearest friend. That is all.”

Sir Jeffrey looked intently at him. Jensen looked back unflinchingly. He hoped that the candle-light illuminating the room would be sufficient for his uncle to see the truth behind his words.

“Very well,” said Sir Jeffrey at length. “I believe you.”

He sighed, passed a hand across his forehead and sat down heavily in an armchair next to an empty grate. Jensen approached him and after a moment’s hesitation knelt in front of him, his posture dejected and remorseful.

“I didn’t mean to anger or displease you,” he said quietly, talking to his uncle’s knees. “I’m sorry if I have done so. I didn’t mean to. I swear.” His breath hitched. “Uncle, will you – ” Jensen lifted his eyes “ – will you disown me now that you know what… what I am?”

Sir Jeffrey looked startled. “Disown you? No.” He shook his head. “I do not intend to disown you, Jensen. Do not fear. I am neither angry nor displeased with you.” His hand settled on top of his nephew’s head as though in confirmation. “But it was quite a shock! I must say I never suspected you of such dangerous and unspeakable proclivities. I certainly did not expect to receive such a revelation and in such a public setting too. Upon my word, you have never struck me as particularly impulsive despite your somewhat emotional disposition. But you are still so young and you have suffered a lot in so short a time. It is quite understandable that your recent experiences have left you vulnerable and susceptible to certain evils, especially in the wrong company... However, having said that, I fear that this business with Mr Padalecki... ” He paused. Jensen’s heart stilled. “I cannot condone it, Jensen. I hope you understand. If anyone finds out about it, the scandal will ruin us all. Therefore, it has to stop. I must insist. You will cease all interaction with that young man starting as of today. I forbid you to see him.”

Jensen shook his head. “No...” He grasped his uncle’s hands in his. “Uncle, don’t do this. Please, don’t. I – must – I…” He was looking at Sir Jeffrey with tears of supplication shining in his eyes. “You said you weren’t angry with me. You said you weren’t displeased! Didn’t you? Then why are you punishing me so?”

Sir Jeffrey cupped his face in his hands and brushed away the tears now rolling down his cheeks. “I spoke the truth, Jensen. I am not angry. I am not displeased. But I am worried. I am not doing it to punish you. I swear. Hush, now. Hush, my beautiful boy.”

Sir Jeffrey smoothed Jensen’s ruffled hair back and held his chin up.

“Jensen, you must understand that what you’re feeling is wrong and unnatural. He is a man. A man! A man according to your admission you have known barely a fortnight too. You must know that an association of this nature cannot continue. It is inconceivable and wicked. It is against all mores of society. It is a crime punishable by law.”

“I don’t care!” said Jensen furiously.

He never saw the slap coming.

His hand immediately jerked upwards as though on a string and covered his burning cheek, his eyes wide and horrified.

“Well, you should!” snarled Sir Jeffrey. “He doesn’t care! My poor brother is no doubt turning over in his grave as we speak. Do you not care what it will do to your mother? Your sister? Think about them! Think! The scandal will kill your mother, I will bet my whole fortune on it. And what of your sister? What will become of her when you are imprisoned, tried and hanged for sodomy? Don’t do this to them, Jensen. I entreat you. A fortnight’s acquaintance – no matter how gratifying – is not worth so many ruined lives!”

Jensen took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes and hid his face in his hands.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank those people who leave their comments and impressions. You have no idea how much it means to me to know that someone likes my story. Thank you very much indeed!

That night sleep eluded Jensen as he knew it would. How could he go to sleep when he desperately needed to talk to Jared but had no means of doing so? No, he could not possibly go against his uncle’s orders without facing repercussions that would affect both him and his family; otherwise he would not have hesitated a second. But the perils of such reckless actions that his uncle had represented to him had made too much of an impression on him not to heed his warning. In the end, the only thing Jensen could think of doing was to send a note to Jared informing him that his uncle did not approve of their Friendship and that they would not be able to see each other for some time. He promised to find a way to see him again at the earliest opportunity but in the meantime begged him not to seek his company or to contact him in any way so as not to draw forth his uncle’s wrath.

It nearly broke his heart to compose such a note for he could not embellish it with professions of his true feelings, and he hoped that the tears that had fallen as he scribbled it would not fail to convey to Jared the depth of his wretchedness despite the harshness of his words. He sent it off with the servant in the early hours of the morning and proceeded to be miserable. Count Dmitri arrived after breakfast to apologize most profusely for his conduct the previous night; to narrate with what disappointment and solicitude Jared had received the news of Jensen’s sudden departure and to inform him that he was leaving London on business. Jensen then apprised him of what took place upon their return home and lamented the fact of his friend’s unexpected leave-taking. Count Dmitri promised to return within a fortnight.

“I declare I have never seen a man more besotted in my life,” observed Mrs Ackles when she and Jensen were to be found alone on the day after the ball, both Sir Jeffrey and Mrs Smith having been taken away by some engagements abroad.

“Mother?” asked Jensen in some confusion as he reluctantly re-emerged from his reverie, during which he was thinking back on his final encounter with Jared, and looked away from the volume in his lap he had been pretending to be deeply engrossed in.

His mother gave an affected little laugh that tinkled and tittered like an instrument out of tune, setting Jensen’s teeth on edge. By God! He was heartily sick of females and their simpering manners and affectation. Such ridiculous creatures! He quite detested the lot of them. It was a wonder that he managed to check himself before he threw the book into the fireplace.

“Naturally, I have never expected to inspire such a violent feeling at my age," continued Mrs Ackles with a great deal of self-complacency. “My conduct, I am sure, was irreproachable in every respect. Not to mention that in my current state of mourning I would never presume to make love and attach anyone. But!” she exclaimed. “However it came about, I must confess myself most gratified by such a fortunate turn of events. But then what woman in such a case – or any case where a man’s attachment is involved for that matter – is not? Besides, how many women at my time of life can boast of capturing affections of such a fine beau?”

“I’m afraid I do not quite understand your meaning, madam,” said Jensen slowly, his confusion increasing. Frantically, he started thinking back on every encounter and engagement that she’d had of late, wondering what he’d missed when obliged to listen to her minute recounts of each and asking himself at what point precisely she had acquired herself a beau. The notion was quite ridiculous in his opinion.

“If you insist on reading as much as you do, Jensen,” snapped Mrs Ackles, throwing a rather belligerent look at him as though punishing him for breaking the spell she had been under, “you might want to display at least an appearance of intelligence! Otherwise, I see no point in perusing all these heavy volumes with so much concentration if they have no effect on you whatsoever.”

Jensen managed with some difficulty to remain composed, sternly reminding himself that he could hardly afford to be out of favour both with his uncle and his mother at the same time these days.

“I am sorry to have appeared too slow to comprehend your meaning, ma’am,” he gritted out. “I must beg you to forgive my lack of expertise in the matter and show me some indulgence by explaining it further.”

“Sir Jeffrey! Your uncle, Jensen!” cried his mother. “I am talking of your uncle and the fact that he is completely and utterly besotted with me!”

That was such an astonishing piece of news to Jensen that he allowed himself to stare at his mother with a corresponding look upon his face. He had even forgotten about his own wretchedness for the moment.

“My uncle?” he stammered. “Are you quite certain? I do not mean to doubt your word, of course. But all the same! I mean… Upon my word; I do not know what to say,” he finished faintly, succumbing into a bewildered silence.

His mother sniffed.

“It doesn’t seem all that improbable when you take into account all the evidence. Just think of all that he has done for us, Jensen; all that attention and kindness that he has bestowed upon us without any reticence or reservation on his part! He could have refused. He could have turned his back on us and who could blame him? His own brother – your father – banned him from his own house and shunned him for years!”

“And you are quite sure, madam, that in all this he was guided by his – er – affection towards you rather than, let’s say, the goodness of his heart? His generosity of spirit?” asked Jensen cautiously, praying that his mother would not take offence at the implication.

“Why! It is more than that, to be sure!” His mother’s laughter tinkled again, girly and breathless. “I do not know if I should be mentioning it at all. But! It is also the manner in which he would look at me sometimes,” she confessed, dropping her eyes to her lap. Jensen barely refrained from rolling his eyes at such a ridiculous display. “I’m sure you have never noticed for he would never do it in blatant fashion so as not to embarrass me, of course. However, whenever he would set you to the task of reading to us, thus fully occupying your attention, his eye would often roam the room in a very deliberate manner, as though trying to avoid fixing it upon the real object of his interest. Nevertheless, it would never take long before his gaze would become affixed upon my face with that sort of intense contemplation that speaks volumes.” Jensen balled his hands into fists when another breathless giggle trilled across the room. His mother was blushing now and fanning herself. “And the way he would always avoid remaining alone with me as though afraid that he would not be able to control his impulses! Always seeking your company and your assistance in something or other; anything to disguise the strength of his feelings towards me. Oh! It is all so very Hamlet, don’t you think? I could think of little else when we watched the play the other day.”

Jensen shook his head, proud that he had stopped himself from snorting his disbelief and derision.

“I would like to think that my uncle did not murder my father in order to marry his wife and rule his kingdom,” he observed in a bored manner, quite convinced that his mother had imagined all of the symptoms.

“Jensen! Must you be so grave all the time?” asked Mrs Ackles, miffed. “It is horrendously tiresome."

Jensen wished to point out that someone had to be grave under the circumstances but held his tongue in check.

“I believe I should give him a hint – put it into his mind, you know – that I am not opposed to the idea of being courted by him,” continued the lady. “I know that he will not do anything unless he is certain that I am amenable to it. It is such a delicate matter, after all.”

Mrs Ackles mistook Jensen’s incredulous countenance for bemusement as she proceeded with some vexation, “Jensen, upon my word, you must know that society generally frowns upon a man marrying his late brother’s wife. However, a special license can be obtained. It has been done before. And as for whether a widow should marry a second time or not – well – society has not agreed on that yet.”

Jensen desperately wished to return to his reverie where Jared was kissing him behind the couch that they had overturned after falling down upon it, Jensen still straddling Jared. At the same time he decided to observe his uncle’s conduct towards his mother closely later that day, wondering whether he had been so engrossed in his own amorous affairs as to have missed all the signs.

Thankfully, Sir Jeffrey’s arrival put an end to their conversation shortly afterwards. Mrs Smith followed almost at once and took her place next to Mrs Ackles, who winked at Jensen and pressed her index finger to her lips in a conspiratorial manner. Jensen concealed the roll of his eyes by moving towards a sideboard and pouring his uncle a drink. He looked like he needed it.

Sir Jeffrey thanked him heartily and when Jensen moved to reclaim his previous seat indicated that he should take a seat next to him. Jensen complied. On one hand, such seating arrangement would prevent him from observing the situation. However, on the other hand, his uncle was offering him an olive branch and he would be a fool not to accept it.

Mrs Ackles, in the meantime, dropped her stitch-work onto Mrs Smith’s lap and fixed her eager gaze upon Sir Jeffrey.

“How was your day, my dear sir?” she asked with a smile, as though already trying on the office of his future wife.

“Ah! My dear madam!” he cried. “I’m afraid I must be the bearer of some rather disturbing news.”

“But what can be the matter?”

“I’m afraid, my dear sister, that you have exposed yourself to certain unfortunate remarks on account of the manner in which you have been going on about your mourning. People have started talking that you have been seen too much out and about making merry instead of mourning your poor husband properly. I have met Lady Alaina today and she told me in no uncertain terms that your white shawl that you wore at the ball yesterday while greatly admired for its beauty and elegance was the final straw. Alas, the judgment has been passed...”

“Heavens!” cried Mrs Ackles, clutching at her carmine-tinted cheeks. “But what is to be done now?”

“Perhaps, a short retirement in the country would not go amiss under the circumstances,” suggested Sir Jeffrey after a short pause. “I am well aware how much the opinion of society means to you but you know as well as I do how fickle it can be. I would hate to lose your company but we must do what is best for your reputation after all your efforts to re-establish it and presently what we must do is to wait for the gossip to settle down. Besides, I believe that a short sojourn in the country will do you good. I have noticed that you have been looking rather pale of late. No doubt you have overexerted yourself too much. Mrs Smith will, of course, accompany you. Jensen, in the meantime, will keep me company here.”

“I do feel rather out of sorts,” said Mrs Ackles in some distress, looking at him with wide eyes. “How right you are! I have never known a man more attentive and perceptive and as kind as you, my dear sir. I didn’t wish to say anything, you know, so as not to worry anyone on my account. However, now that you have seen it for yourself… Well! I shall naturally follow your advice, my dear sir. Where will you have me go? How soon? Will you come and visit?”

Jensen stared at his mother, wondering what had just happened. He was quite certain that Mrs Ackles had just been tricked into leaving town just as the season was about to begin and that she had not even put up any resistance to oppose the scheme! However, it confirmed his earlier supposition that his mother’s notion as to his uncle’s intentions of courting her was quite ridiculous and that he thought no more of marrying her than of marrying her son.

Nevertheless, a sudden sensation of unease settled in the pit of his stomach; a sensation Jensen could not account for.


	18. Chapter 18

His mother’s departure to the country was effected with an even greater expediency than the decision to undertake it had been arrived at, leaving Jensen with only his uncle for company. It would not have been an undesirable thing only a week ago, but ever since their conversation after the ball, their relationship had undergone a change that neither could pretend not to be aware of. Gone was that former ease, unreserve and candour which they had shared before. Gone was that warmth and eagerness with which Jensen would accept his embraces and affections. Sir Jeffrey had become a stranger; Jensen could not quite trust the smile that he so often directed at him anymore.

He expected it to turn into a mask of rage at the least provocation. The sound of the slap would sometimes ring in his ears and his left cheek still bore a faint crescent mark where his palm had connected with it. Jensen was extremely civil and obliging but kept his distance whenever he could and neither volunteered information nor encouraged conversation unless pressed by the circumstances. Jensen decided that the time had finally arrived to broach the subject of his prospective career, hoping that Sir Jeffrey would not oppose his wish to make something of himself in the world. He chose to speak to him after dinner when they removed themselves to the drawing-room to take their coffee and to play a game of piquet.

“I have been thinking about finding some sort of employment for myself,” he began, catching his uncle’s eye as he had made his move.

“Have you grown tired of town?” asked Sir Jeffrey, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. “In this case I wish I had an estate of my own to take you to. I dare say it would not lack employment for a young man such as yourself.”

Jensen made a small bow to acknowledge the sentiment.

“You are too kind, sir. But I cannot presume to live on your bounty forever. I wish to be of some use at least. I wish to repay for the kindness that you have already bestowed upon me, my mother and my sister. Alas, I must ask for another favour. However, if you could assist me in procuring a commission to militia or an assignment on a ship I would be eternally in your debt and would do everything in my power to acquit myself with proper honour and diligence. Naturally, I understand that it is rather sudden and it might not be in your power at present. In which case, I would not be opposed to going into orders; a small living is all I require.”

“But you care nothing for either the army or the navy,” pointed out Sir Jeffrey. “And as for the church, Jensen, I’m afraid a clergyman cannot be as pretty as you are. God will be the last thing on anyone’s mind then!”

Jensen coloured.

“I simply wish to be of use, uncle.”

Sir Jeffrey gave him a long scrutinizing look that Jensen bore with his chin raised upwards in defiance.

“Very well,” said the former with a nod. “I think I can arrange that. Let me just make a few inquiries first.”

He left the card table as soon as he said that and took a seat behind the writing desk. Jensen watched intrigued as his uncle penned a short note, rang for a servant and ordered the note to be delivered at once.

“Make sure that you wait for the answer.”

Jensen didn’t hear the name of the street or the person the note was addressed to but hoped that Sir Jeffrey would soon elucidate the matter. Alas, upon rejoining Jensen at the card table, he motioned for him to proceed with the game without explaining anything further. Jensen’s pride forbade him to pry.

They continued to play until the servant re-entered the room with what Jensen assumed was a reply to his uncle’s note. Sir Jeffrey read it, smiled and looked up at him.

“Well then! Do you have any objections to taking a stroll?” he asked.

Jensen looked in surprise.

“A stroll? But where to?”

Instead of replying, Sir Jeffrey ordered a carriage to be prepared.

“I thought you wanted to take a stroll,” observed Jensen.

“There will be time for that. First, we take a ride. Come!”

Jensen put on his greatcoat, beaver hat and gloves, grabbed his walking stick and hurried after his uncle into the carriage, thinking that the man was acting very odd indeed. He wished he knew what was going on and where they were going but once again found that he could not quite bring himself to pry when his uncle seemed to deliberately withhold the information from him.

It was dark outside and the carriage took them to that part of town that didn’t appear to have a single street-lamp in sight; perhaps, Jensen thought, preferring it that way, which instantly alerted him to the fact that it couldn’t have been an entirely wholesome neighbourhood. His confusion grew. He could not understand why his uncle would take him there and what connection it had to the matter of his prospective employment.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt next to a high crumbling stone wall overgrown with creepers. Jensen began to examine what he could see of the area, while Sir Jeffrey was giving instructions to the coachman. He waited until the latter drove off before motioning for Jensen to follow him. They walked a short distance along the wall until Sir Jeffrey stopped and pointed at a small arched entryway with his walking stick. It was not high enough to admit a fully grown man and blended so completely with darkness around them that Jensen would have missed it otherwise.

On the other side of the archway they found themselves in the realm of overgrown hedgerows, unkempt shrubs and wild-looking trees. It appeared to be an abandoned sort of park that fell out of favour with its owner and came to ruin and desolation. Jensen squinted hard and saw a diversity of straight alleys, diagonal lanes and winding paths leading in different directions and vanishing out of sight, which confirmed his opinion that they were indeed on someone’s pleasure grounds.

“Uncle, this is private property, is it not?” he hissed. “Are we trespassing?”

Sir Jeffrey chuckled. “Do not worry. We have been invited.”

“Then why are we using the back door?”

“Why indeed?”

“Uncle?” asked Jensen in confusion.

“Forgive me, Jensen. I was rather diverted by your wording.” He chuckled. “I mean, considering...”

“Considering what?” Jensen snapped. He was growing rather embittered towards his uncle and the unfortunate brambles that chose that particular moment to entrap his feet felt the brunt of his growing fury as he whacked them mercilessly with his walking stick. “Considering what?” he repeated, breathing heavily as he hurried after the man.

“Do you know who gentlemen of the back door are, Jensen?” asked Sir Jeffrey all of a sudden and Jensen felt instantly hot inside his many-layered cravat.

“I believe that’s what they call those gentlemen who prefer each other’s company in an intimate way.”

“Precisely.”

Jensen frowned; it was difficult walking in complete darkness without trying to play riddles with his uncle.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

“Have you ever heard of Rowena’s Place?”

The name sounded familiar and it took Jensen all of a second to recollect Matt Cohen’s words as he dressed him up in female apparel. His eyes widened.

“You mean the molly house?”

“Indeed. I knew you would know of it, considering your inclinations.”

“My knowledge of the place has no bearing whatsoever upon my inclinations, sir!” said Jensen indignantly. “I came to know the name of this place under the most undesirable circumstances and received the information most unwillingly. But what are we doing here? And what possible connection can it have to what we were discussing earlier? Do they need an accountant or a secretary?” wondered Jensen.

Well, it certainly wasn’t what he had in mind!

Sir Jeffrey didn't reply and Jensen didn’t repeat his question for that was when they came in view of the manor house. It wasn’t large from what Jensen could see and apart from several spots of light in the windows on the first floor the rest of it was hidden by the dark.


	19. Chapter 19

Sir Jeffrey made a series of complicated knocks against the wooden front door with his walking stick before it opened and they were ushered inside a dimly-lit hall. They deposited their greatcoats, hats and walking sticks in the cloak-room and were taken into a moderate-sized drawing-room, done in rich colours of orange, terracotta and carmine, where three ladies – a young, a middle-aged and an elderly one – were sitting primly and properly by the fire, working away with their needles and threads and chatting merrily amongst themselves. Jensen blinked. What a picture of perfect domesticity they made! Could it truly be a molly house? A den of iniquity? An abode of unnatural sin? He spied a spinning wheel nearby and was instantly put in mind of the three fates. Jensen grimly wondered what sort of fate awaited upon him. They bowed.

“Good evening, ladies,” said Sir Jeffrey amiably.

The ladies nodded in greeting. The young and the elderly one continued with their work and their chat undisturbed but the middle one rose gracefully to her feet and approached them.

“Rowena,” said Sir Jeffrey with a warm smile and Jensen stared in astonishment at the familiar abundance of bouncing red curls and witchy slanting eyes of Lady Ruth Connell.

“Lord Morgan, you brought your pretty wee nephew with you. How charming! How very charming indeed!” she spoke with a pronounced Scottish accent, clasping her hands beneath her chin and batting her eyelashes at them. “Dear me, I have rarely seen a prettier sight.”

Jensen was stunned into silence. Lady Ruth – as she was known within a more conventional layer of polite society – was a renowned belle, a woman of undetermined age, a grande dame of every salon, a matchmaker extraordinaire and a devil at the card table. It was commonly known that she was not a lady either by birth or marriage but it was definitely not a common knowledge that she was the matron of a molly house as well!

“May we proceed?” asked Sir Jeffrey, making a vague motion with his hand towards one of the doors just visible from behind a screen and some rather fancy hangings.

“Indeed! Indeed! Do proceed, my fine men.”

Lady Ruth smiled, winked and watched as they disappeared behind the screen depicting some oriental scenes, ducked their heads below the hangings, that greatly resembled a theatre curtain, and slipped through the wooden doors behind.

The first room was not precisely what Jensen had expected to see; though, to be sure, his expectations had been rather vague, considering that he had never stepped foot into a brothel before.

At a first glance it was a mere card room with dark green paper-hangings, wainscoted walls, leather armchairs, card tables, a sideboard with spirits, a fireplace with a marble chimney-piece and a number of finely dressed gentlemen playing rubbers of whist, quadrille, piquet and, in some rare cases, even backgammon. In fact, it would not have been any different from any other similar scene at any gentlemen’s club in town had it not been for the fact that the gentlemen’s laps were occupied by wigged, rouged, and corseted men, their skirts bunched up around them as they poured drinks into their patrons’ mouths and rubbed against their crotches.

Jensen wondered how anyone could attempt to play cards when thus distracted. He was still questioning his uncle’s possible motives for bringing him here but also found himself rather curious to see what he would find in the other rooms. He could already hear distant sounds of a fiddle playing a rollicking reel, accompanied by thuds, claps and yells demanded by the dance, and occasional sounds of muffled gasps, moans and groans whenever music abated that stained his cheeks with a blush.

The moment they stepped into the second room, Jensen didn’t know where to look. The only thing he did know was that no matter where he looked something obscene was happening there. He stopped and stared; quite unaware that he was likewise drawing attention to himself. Yet he noticed neither the interested stares nor the lewd gestures nor heard the propositions flying from all directions to join the on-going merriment.

This room was much larger and rather more crowded than the first one. Most of its chairs, armchairs, couches and settees were occupied by couples in various states of dishabille and at different stages of copulation. The many doors along the walls concealed similar activities – if the sounds coming from within were any indication; some stood ajar, their occupants apparently not caring about their privacy all that much. Several men stood with their breeches unbuttoned, pleasured by other men either with their hands or mouths. The floor was littered with bottles and goblets, soiled with spilt drink and the products of men’s release as well as urine. Jensen could barely stand the stench, cringing when he heard the slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh.

Behind a pair of floor-length glass doors on the other side of the room a rowdy dancing was taking place. Suddenly the door opened and a loud tune spilled into the room, followed by guffaws and catcalls of the dancers. The door closed just as a man in a tight black corset and a floor-length crimson skirt tumbled out of the room, stumbled, grabbed a bottle from one of the tables and began to drink from it with relish. Upon catching sight of Jensen, he exclaimed, threw the bottle away and made a beeline for him. Jensen gasped; despite his powdered face, rouged cheeks and painted eyes he instantly recognized Matt Cohen.

“So! I see you’ve taken my advice,” said Matt upon approaching him.

Jensen drew himself up and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Matt hiccupped. “Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t come here to turn a trick or two? A pretty young thing like you down on his luck and all that?”

“No,” bit out Jensen. He decided not to mention that he didn’t quite know why he was there in the first place.

Suddenly Matt’s face lit up. “Is that your uncle?” he asked, looking over Jensen’s shoulder. “Lord Morgan?”

It was only now that Jensen realized that his uncle wasn’t next to him anymore. He turned around just as his uncle beckoned for him to follow him into one of the rooms.

“Well, well, well,” drawled Matt, giggling. “I see now what this is all about…”

Jensen flushed, staring in horror at him. “What? That’s not – ! Good God, you’re disgusting!”

“Disgusting, am I?” leered Matt. “Except I’m not the one about to bend over for my own uncle,” he pointed out.

“Well, neither am I!” burst out Jensen and stalked off, feeling sick and repulsed by the very notion.

He was so furious that he marched into the room without asking Sir Jeffrey what was going on. He instantly found himself in a poorly lit room smothered in folds of cloth with a single bed and a chair. Breathing heavily, he turned around to speak to Sir Jeffrey just as the door closed softly in front of his face. He heard it being locked and bolted on the other side. What in devil’s name was going on?

Jensen all but jumped out of his skin when an unpleasantly familiar voice that sent shivers down his spine spoke from behind –

“Hello, darling. I knew we’d meet again.”


	20. Chapter 20

Jensen straightened his back and turned around just as a rather short and portly man emerged from the shadows that had previously concealed him. His face, when illuminated by the flickering light of a single tallow candle, looked smug. His manner was smarmy and pompous as on the previous occasion.

“Mr Sheppard,” said Jensen as his back touched the door.

“Darling,” repeated the man in a raspy voice.

Jensen’s jaw twitched. “Whatever nefarious ideas you’re entertaining on my account, sir, my uncle is on the other side of that door.”

“Oh, I know. He has the key to this room.” He raised his eyebrows and spread his arms. “Ah! But so do I.”

“I don’t understand.” Jensen frowned. “Why would my uncle have the key to this room?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me what?”

“Well, the purpose with which he brought you here tonight, of course.”

Jensen’s feeling of confusion, panic and foreboding intensified.

“I thought it had something to do with my employment,” he replied cautiously.

Sheppard chortled. “Well, if that’s what you prefer to call it, darling.”

“Just what in devil’s name is going on here?”

Jensen’s heart began to beat extremely fast when the man began to move towards him. It was, after all, a small room, and it took the other man only a few paces to reach him.

“Your uncle and I have made a deal, sweetheart,” replied Sheppard simply. “I offered him something that he couldn’t refuse. In return for my services he promised me yours.”

“My uncle would never do something like that,” replied Jensen in disgust and disbelief.

“Oh?”

Sheppard stretched out his hand in order to place it on Jensen’s cheek. Jensen jerked his head away from the touch and it came in painful contact with the door.

“Don’t hurt yourself, darling. By-the-by, I think you will find that he very much did.”

Jensen shook his head. “No.” He refused to believe it.

“Then why did he bring you here tonight of all places?” asked Sheppard with a chortle. “Have you asked yourself that? Have you asked him? Why did he lure you into this particular room? Why was he the one to lock the door behind you? Why are you here with me?”

Jensen took a deep breath. “What do you want with me?” he whispered.

“I think you know, darling. You can’t have forgotten our conversation back in autumn. I wish to have you. I wish to enjoy you.”

Jensen shook his head again. He could not believe it was happening.

“Please... I can’t…”

Sheppard tut-tutted. “I wonder why that is. Are you, perhaps, saving yourself for Mr Padalecki?”

Jensen gasped. “How did you – ?”

“I know a lot about you, sweetheart. Your uncle has been extremely generous with information – especially of the kind that will eventually ensure your complete cooperation. For instance, the whereabouts of your beloved sister and your spendthrift mother…”

No…

“Have you been bedded by a man before?”

Jensen shook his head, feeling all colour drain from his face. How could his uncle have done this to him?

“But do not look so terrified! I am not going to bed you tonight. It is a long-term arrangement, after all. We have all the time in the world. I hope you understand that I have paid quite a sum to enjoy you and I intend to get every penny’s worth.”

Sheppard made a few steps back and took a seat on the only chair available in the room. Jensen’s world tilted when Sheppard indicated that he should sit on his lap. The enormity of his uncle’s betrayal had finally hit him with a terrible force that was enough to knock him down.

He must have gone into a state of shock for he could not otherwise account for the fact that he did not remember moving from the door and arranging himself on the other man’s lap.

“I want you to know that it would have been very different had you accepted my original proposal,” whispered Sheppard in his ear; one of his hands was wrapped loosely around Jensen’s waist, the other was patting his cheek as though he was a favourite cat who liked being pampered.

Jensen squeezed his eyes shut.

“I was prepared to give you everything that you could possibly want. But you thought it beneath you, didn’t you, darling? Well, do you like this arrangement better? Being bedded in a brothel like a common whore?”

Jensen gasped for breath as tears of humiliation and impotent rage spilled down his cheeks. He could not believe that this was what his life had come to…


	21. Chapter 21

It could have been worse, decided Jensen when the encounter had come to an end with that cold sort of detachment that he had adopted once he had found himself on the man’s lap without any means of escaping his disgraceful fate. Sheppard pawed him a great deal as though making sure that the goods he had bought were intact, sniffed him for some perverse reason of his, kissed his neck and his jawline, traced his lips and shoved his fingers into his mouth, retrieving them only when Jensen had succumbed to the humiliation of sucking on them, and patted him some more on the head, all the while telling him how beautiful he was and how much he was looking forward to enjoying him.

Jensen left the room on his own two feet without being aware of their movement beneath him. He was dimly aware that the room had become less crowded and that the fiddle was no longer playing; some couples were reposing in each other’s arms on the couches and the settees; someone was strumming on the guitar and a chorus of low voices was humming an old sentimental ditty. His uncle’s valet was waiting for him on the other side of the door. Sir Jeffrey had left but instructed him to escort Jensen home. Jensen found that he couldn’t care less. In fact, it was not until they were approaching his uncle’s house situated on a well-lit street in Mayfair that the feeling of having been betrayed and used exploded within him and poured out in a fit of rage he had never felt before.

Jensen stormed through the hall and into the drawing-room like a gale of wind so strong it could blow a ship off course.

“Jensen!” cried Sir Jeffrey, jumping to his feet as though he had not expected him to be back so soon.

“Why?” bellowed Jensen in anguish and anger and agony that shook his body and made his blood boil, while his skin burnt where Sheppard had touched him. He wished he could just rip it off like a soiled bandage before it began to infest and rot.

“Why?” He brought his fists onto a small round table piled with papers and books standing in the centre of the room and it rattled and clattered, the books thudded to the floor, the papers fluttered in alarm like startled bats.

“Why?” He lifted a chair barring his path and flung it unseeing across the room. It smashed into a glass-fronted cabinet with fancy china. The glass tinkled, scandalized, and sprinkled the carpet with its shimmering shards.

Jensen didn’t slow down his pace as he continued to advance upon his uncle.

“Why?” He grabbed the back of the couch next. His fingers, with some difficulty, sank into the slippery leather as he heaved it. But the couch was too heavy to be lifted. Stubbornly, it wouldn’t budge.

Jensen roared.

His uncle stared at him, looking genuinely appalled. The laughter that escaped Jensen’s lips upon seeing that look of innocent bewilderment was chilling; deranged. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he behaved like an inmate of Bedlam rather than a well-mannered gentleman in his uncle’s immaculate drawing-room. He was a gentleman-whore now. So what did it matter? He could trash his uncle’s house and take part in public brawls. He could sink no lower, could he? His uncle had made sure of that. Maybe he could write his memoirs and publish them now? Public loved that sort of thing. He could even make a fortune if he chose to disclose names and all.

“Jensen, compose yourself!” said his uncle with authority in his voice that only further infuriated Jensen.

“Or what?” he challenged, still gripping the back of the couch, imagining Sheppard’s neck instead.

“Or you will hurt yourself!”

Jensen laughed again. It was the same hollow and unfamiliar laugh that did not belong to him. Truly, that was quite droll. A fine joke indeed!

“Do you think I will ever hurt myself more than you have hurt me?” he asked quietly when the laughter shriveled and turned into acrid ashes in his mouth.

“Jensen...”

Jensen wrenched his hands from the couch and made a few final steps towards Sir Jeffrey, who took an alarmed step back even though, if brawn came to brawn, he was considerably beefier than Jensen.

Jensen spat on the carpet at his feet.

“Tell me, dear uncle, what did I ever do to you to deserve what you have done to me?”

“Jensen, I am so – ”

“I don’t need your platitudes,” Jensen cut him off sharply, breathing so heavily he was growing lightheaded. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, Jensen. I truly am. It breaks my heart to see you like this. I hope you may believe it one day.”

Jensen shook his head.

“Good God, I don’t care about that! Why? Uncle, why? That is what I want to know. What is my crime against you to merit the punishment of what you have turned me into? I only ever loved you! Damn it all! I loved you more than I ever loved my own father.”

“I made a deal.”

“What sort of deal?”

“A deal that would allow me to have my revenge.”

Jensen stared.

“On me?”

“No!” Sir Jeffrey shook his head. “On my brother.”

“My father?”

Sir Jeffrey nodded.

“But I never thought of hurting you, Jensen. I swear. I didn’t think. I… just didn’t think. I was so blinded by the possibility – the opportunity – of getting back at my brother for what he had done to me – finally! – after all these years that I didn’t even consider who else I would be hurting in the process.”

Jensen narrowed his eyes; he wanted to claw that contrite expression off his uncle’s face. He wanted him to suffer; to bleed.

“Bollocks!” he cried. “You intended to use me as a tool to extract your revenge on my father and yet you didn’t think that it would hurt me? Do you truly expect me to believe that?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years. I was sure that he had corrupted your mind against me. I... I only ever wished to make him feel that terrible pain that he made me feel when he – ”

“When he what?”

“It matters not. The point is that I wanted to hurt him in the worst possible way. I wanted to break his heart. I wanted to humiliate him. I wanted to destroy him.”

“And knowing that his only surviving son – his only heir – was now a whore and a sodomite would naturally do that, wouldn’t it?” surmised Jensen bitterly. “Especially if it became public knowledge. I assume that was your intention all along?”

Sir Jeffrey nodded.

“But I didn’t expect my brother to die,” he said. “You have to understand this. He was always so robust. I was led to believe by the circulating reports that his condition wasn’t as serious as he wanted everyone to believe; that he was merely pretending to be ill on purpose so that they would stop hounding him and demanding money. Naturally, when I learnt of his death I was appalled. I tried to break off the deal but he wouldn’t let me. I had an estate. I now had to deliver you to him.”

“An estate?” asked Jensen.

“I was the anonymous buyer of the estate you were to inherit from your father.”

“Ah.” Jensen chuckled grimly. “I see. It was supposed to be another triumph over your brother, is that right? An ancestral home he once threw you out of now yours while he is homeless and ruined.”

“He was supposed to live. He was supposed to suffer. He! Jensen! He! I do love you.”

Jensen shook his head.

“But apparently not as much as you hate my father.”

Sir Jeffrey balled his hands into fists. “You have no idea what he did to me. What he took away from me!”

Jensen remained unmoved.

“I assume something so valuable that justified betraying my trust, stripping away my dignity, forfeiting my reputation and ruining my life,” he answered coldly.

“Jensen – please!”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare,” hissed Jensen, once again livid. “You made me his personal whore. His whore! Don’t tell me to spare your feelings now. You don’t deserve my sympathy. You don’t deserve anything from me! You should burn in hell for what you did, Sir Jeffrey. By God, I hope you will!”

“Jensen…”

Jensen didn’t listen anymore. He walked to the sideboard, grabbed as many bottles of brandy as he could carry and stalked off to his room.


	22. Chapter 22

The hand in his hair was familiar; its caress intimate and soothing as it exercised just the right amount of pressure on his skull in all the right places. Jensen groaned and buried his face deeper into the pillow.

“You promised to return in a fortnight,” he accused.

“I know,” replied Misha softly, without ceasing his endearments. “I’m sorry, Jensen. I was detained by business. I couldn’t come sooner. I’m sorry.”

There was something peculiar in Misha’s voice that alerted Jensen. He had a feeling that he was apologizing for more than just returning later than he had promised. Jensen reluctantly raised his head and looked intently at his friend.

“Mish, what is it?” he asked.

Misha leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

“I...”

He broke off, swallowed, shook his head, looking guilty, remorseful and profoundly sad.

Jensen’s eyes widened.

“Oh God… you know…” he whispered, horrified, instantly retreating from his touch. “How?”

“I made a trip to the club upon my return as is my habit to get all the latest news and gossip and met Matt Cohen there. He told me.”

Jensen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He shook his head upon opening them again.

“I wanted to believe that my continuing discomfort would be triumph enough for him,” he said matter-of-factly next; “but, apparently, he decided to ruin me completely into the bargain. I dare say I should have known that. There is no honour to him. He has been trading his body and secrets for far too long to be anything but an unscrupulous, treacherous and dishonourable human being. I wonder how many he has already informed.”

“He has to exercise caution, however,” observed Misha. “I’m sure he will not make it public knowledge. I think he only told me because of our long-standing friendship.”

Jensen shook his head. “I’m afraid I lost my faith in men since I’ve been...”

He fell silent and looked away.

“I have something for you,” said Misha quietly.

Jensen looked back at him when he heard the rustling of paper.

“Young Jared has been using my house as his personal post office it seems. Here. These are for you.”

He extended Jensen a stack of letters. Jensen moved his hand to take them but jerked it back at the last moment. “No,” he bit out. “I can’t take them. Get them away from me.”

Misha looked in bewilderment at him. “What do you mean? Why?”

“I should not take them.” Jensen shook his head again. “I should let Jared be. I cannot proceed to encourage him in his attentions and affections or to deceive myself into believing that we can be together. Jared shouldn’t be with someone like me.”

Misha bristled. “That’s utter rot, Jensen!”

“Is it?” asked Jensen coldly, raising an eyebrow. “I can barely look at myself in the mirror without reeling back in disgust!”

“Is that why you stopped shaving and combing your hair?” asked Misha.

Jensen broke into a reluctant grin. However, it was short-lived. He shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the point, Mish? Besides, I do not wish him to think that I am doing it for him. I do not intend to be pretty for him.”

Misha shook his head, the letters still held in his outstretched hand. “I’m afraid you are residing under an entirely mistaken impression that having facial hair makes you any less alluring. Jensen, it is not so. Please, please, take the letters.” Misha sounded in pain as he looked at his friend. “At the very least they will take your mind off things for a little while.”

“By reminding me of that which I cannot have?” asked Jensen bitterly.

He had forbidden himself to think about Jared; as though afraid that a mere thought would taint the younger man with his downfall, his impurity, his sin.

He grew angry when Misha wouldn’t take the letters back. He didn’t want to look at them even though he was dying to know what they contained.

Finally, with a roar, he grabbed the letters, scrambled out of bed and moved towards the hearth to deposit them into the fire but was brought to a halt when Misha exclaimed, “You’ve got blood on your shirt! Why? Have you been bleeding?”

Jensen cursed under his breath, the letters shaking in his hand. He dropped them onto the floor. He had completely forgotten that he had not changed after coming home the night before and had fallen asleep in his soiled shirt.

He whipped around. “I... didn’t have a bath yesterday,” he stammered, suddenly aware of more than just dried blood coating his anus, stomach and inner thighs. He lowered his gaze in shame. “It’s nothing. I’ll take care of it.”

“Is it... is it always like this?” asked Misha in horror.

Jensen swallowed. Then shrugged. “He says I don’t deserve better treatment.”

“I’ll kill him,” growled Misha.

“Matt Cohen said that he would tell me what means he uses in order to prevent the tearing and the bleeding – but only if I said yes and let him fuck me – to demonstrate. I refused. I’ll ask the maid to draw my bath,” he added quietly, ignoring his friend’s comment.

Misha sighed. “In the meantime I shall see what I can find to help you with that. I’m sure there must be a medical chest somewhere in this house, some emollient I could apply to ease the distress.”

Jensen looked scandalized at the implication. “Misha, I’m not letting you anywhere near my ass!”

Misha was in his face before he had finished speaking.

“You must let me take care of you, Jensen,” he said urgently. “I failed you in everything else. I need to do something! Please!”

Jensen could never tell no to his friend. After a short pause, he pressed a small kiss to his cheek and nodded.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention how much I appreciate your feedback? Not knowing what you think, whether you like it or hate it is the worst. Constructive criticism is likewise welcome!

“Count Dmitri, has anyone ever told you that you would have made a fine valet?” asked Jensen in amusement after Misha had succeeded in coaxing him out of his room, fresh after a bath, cleanly shaven, his hair neatly cut but styled in a somewhat disorderly fashion of the day. “Frankly, I find it quite surprising, considering that you always look so disheveled yourself.”

“Ackles, has anyone ever told you that grooming you is sufficiently taxing as it is?” parried Misha loftily.

Jensen laughed. It almost felt like good old days. Almost.

They had a large breakfast in the breakfast-parlour before adjourning to the drawing-room. Sir Jeffrey was not at home and Jensen rejoiced at the thought. Misha was determined to spend the rest of the day in his company and Jensen could not be happier. He read him from ‘The Corsair’, knowing how much Jensen enjoyed it, while Jensen was reclining on the couch with his head in his lap; after dinner they played cribbage.

Before leaving for the night, Misha extracted a promise from Jensen that he should not destroy Jared’s letters until he had read them. Therefore, as soon as Misha departed, Jensen locked himself in his room, took a deep breath, opened the first letter and began to read –

_J –_

_Nothing but the urgency of your note stops me from calling upon you directly. But as for not contacting you in any way? I cannot do that! Pray, how am I supposed to go so much as a day without seeing your face, hearing your voice, feeling your caress while bestowing my own? How can you ask that of me? How? Do you not wish for the same? How can you expect me to abide with such cruel imposition after all that time that we spent in each other's company – in each other's arms? But how little time it had been after all! A week! Is that all that we are to have? How long do you wish me to keep my distance? To deprive myself of the intimacies and the pleasures that we have shared? Your abrupt departure took me wholly by surprise. I found myself so lost I could not face another dance. My partner was much displeased by the sudden change that had overtaken me and I had an unhappy glimpse into the sort of life I am to expect whenever my future wife will be out of sorts. I shall leave this note with your friend in hopes that you shall show mercy and send me a prompt reply._

_Yours,_

_J_

 

Jensen’s eyes grew wide. Such an imprudent letter! Will the others be of similar nature?

 

_J -_

_Having received no reply from you, I went to take up the case with Count Dmitri in whose care I left my previous note, wondering if he had neglected to pass it on to you or whether he had resolved against it altogether, only to discover that your blasted friend left town and shall not be back this fortnight at least! What a damned shabby thing to have done at a time when he is the only creature in the universe we can trust with our secret correspondence! I quite detest the fellow and I shall tell him as much when I see him again. I relied upon his being the thread that would tether us to each other during our enforced separation. I am going out of my mind. I have to see you! I have to embrace you! I have to kiss you! I must quarrel with you quite bitterly now for you have withheld so much from me. We should have known that we had little time on our hands. I wish to claim that which I have not yet been allowed to have. Will you give yourself to me? I cannot leave town without seeing you again. Can you grant me an audience? No? I thought so. You once promised to visit me in the country and I must hold you to that for that is the only thing that stops me from barging into your uncle's house, demanding to see you._

_Yours,_

_J_

 

Jensen was feeling flushed by now, his heart fluttering restlessly in his chest. Good God, Jared! His hands were shaking when he opened the next letter. His eyes were instantly glued to the first line –

 

_J –_

_I fall asleep to thoughts of you. I imagine you spread beneath me, writhing and moaning as I rub myself against you. You have always been so responsive, so loud. I wonder what would happen if I tied you up. Would you like that? I know I would._

 

Jensen’s breath hitched in his throat. He folded the letter for he needed a moment to compose himself. He took a series of long, deep breaths and several turns about the room; he splashed his face with water from the ewer on his washstand and loosened his neck-cloth before returning to Jared’s extremely inappropriate missive.

 

_I would stretch your arms as wide as they would go before tying them to the headboard with our cravats. I hate wearing these pesky things – once wrapped around my neck they feel like a noose; not to mention that they thoroughly conceal your perfect neck that I would much rather prefer exposed and curved to one side in display of submission. But considering how long and sturdy they are, they will certainly serve me extremely well upon the occasion. I think I forgot to mention that I would divest you of your waistcoat and your shirt beforehand. I would no longer be denied to see you without them protecting your modesty. Had I been more insistent – more audacious on previous occasions – I would have one regret less. In the meantime, I would not stop rubbing against you, pressing hard against your swelling length trapped inside your buckskin breeches with my own. How desperate for release it would make you feel! I will take my time unbuttoning them, however, enjoying your gasps and pleas as you struggle against your bonds. Be careful, my love, for these starched things are a menace. Your wrists will bear the evidence of your bondage for days. I would make sure to lick them with my tongue and lavish them with kisses afterwards. I know that I would take mercy before long for I would not be any less effected by the proceedings than you; in the end, feeling and touching your flesh would be of more import than rendering you mad with unfulfilled desire. I will then ask you for a token; a lock of your pubic hair to put under the glass of my ring so that the tiniest part of my fair lover is hereafter always with me. I shall select among the flirty ones that curl so temptingly just above your cock that I have a particular fondness for. I shall be very careful as I do that. But you will have to be perfectly still. Not a breath must leave you! Will you be able to do that as tremors rock your body? Oh! Forgive me, my love, but I have to stop now. I have developed quite a situation indeed. Surely, you understand that it must be taken care of._

_Yours,_

_J_

 

Jensen let out a loud sob and promptly clapped one of his hands to his mouth together with the crumpled letter; the other hand was frantically rubbing the bulge in his breeches.

“We shall both hang for that,” he moaned before falling asleep that night, still clutching the letter, shaken by the force of his release, wrecked with guilt and haunted by fear.

He resumed his reading the following morning. He could not stop now that he had begun. He was not surprised to find that the rest of the letters were similarly provocative and stimulating – exploring different positions and ministrations that Jared wished to subject him to upon their reconciliation – and, therefore, highly dangerous should they fall into the wrong hands.

They also displayed a side of Jared that until then had remained well concealed behind his socially awkward manners, boyish gangliness, puppyish exuberance and dimpled grins. Jensen found himself fascinated by that persona for on the pages of the letters he came face to face with a man who knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing and who would brook no arguments in order to get that which he had set out to take.

Behind locked doors of his bed-chamber, with his shirt bunched upwards and his breeches open, Jensen would attempt to put into practice Jared’s ideas using his own hands and fingers. Alas, the result was extremely unsatisfactory, often bringing tears of yearning and frustration to his eyes, yet he trembled through waves of forbidden pleasure over and over again, wondering that he still should be enjoying it so much despite the fact that his body was regularly used against his will.

Was it sickness of the mind? Was he going mad? How could he take so much pleasure from hearing Jared’s hushed but unyielding voice issuing orders in his head and fulfilling them to the best of his abilities until he brought himself to release after being violated by another man? How wanton, how wicked he was! Would Jared still want him if he knew?

Jensen was taken aback when the last letter Jared had written was to the following effect –

 

_J –_

_I dreamt of you last night. But what a strange dream it was! I was walking in the forest. It was old and dark, full of whispers and shadows, wrapped in thick glistening spider webs. I was looking for you, calling your name... It was imperative that I should find you. I thought you in peril and I was on a mission to rescue you. I could hear an echo of your laughter here and there. It was distant and nearby at the same time. I could see a ghostly shape that looked like you disappearing in the dark among the trees every time I reached out with my hands in order to catch you. You were not quite human. You had wings. Large and transparent things, they glowed in the dark with precious stones incrusted into them. You wanted me to find you. I knew that when you started dropping the gems onto the forest floor, leaving a glowing trail for me to follow. I finally found you in the darkest and densest part of the forest, stuffed in a hollow of an ugly old tree, its thick and gnarled branches keeping you prisoner. Your body was providing the only light; it was so pale and translucent it could have been stitched with moonbeams. But upon looking at you – I recoiled in disgust. Your body – it was twisted, mangled, broken. Your wings were torn to shreds by claws of some horrendous beast. Your mouth was bleeding. And your eyes! My God, your eyes! They were hollow. Quite hollow! There was nothing but emptiness there. I... I clutched my head and ran, never looking back. I woke up then. I was shaking. What is the meaning of this? I could not stop seeing you like that – broken with hollow eyes. Jensen, Jensen, Jensen! I cannot stop thinking of you. I need you! I need to see you! I need to know that you are fine! I do not wish my dreams of you to take shapes of nightmares because I am denied the sight of you. I want to hold your beautiful face in my hands and stare into the vibrant green of your eyes threaded with gold until that is all that I can see. If your friend is not returned when I pay him a visit this morning, I shall not be responsible for my actions!_

_Yours,_

_J_

 

Jensen frowned. His heart had picked up pace again. He reread the letter. How strange! He had never been of a particularly sentimental turn and did not place too much meaning on dreams and their interpretations; he was never the one to heed superstitions and read omens; he did not believe in supernatural and rather despised that widespread fascination with gothic novels these days that turned heads and opened one’s mind to the possibility of something mysterious and otherworldly taking place alongside the mundane. But that dream! How close to the truth it was! How accurately did it reflect what he was feeling every time he returned from Rowena’s Place.

But how on earth could have Jared seen such a dream without knowing the particulars of Jensen’s current situation? Jensen went pale as a sudden sickening feeling came over him. But surely it wasn’t possible! Surely Jared couldn’t know…

Jensen waited anxiously for another communication to follow now that Misha was in town but it never came. Misha was quite certain. He checked his tray every hour just to make sure. Jared didn’t write again. Jensen was sure that his anxiety would drive him insane ere long.

Alas, his worst fears came to pass that very evening when upon opening the door of the room that Sheppard regularly rented for their meetings he came face to face with –

“Jared?”

Jensen was horrified. He instinctively moved to close the door but Jared stopped him by flinging out his long arm and keeping the door in place. He was breathing heavily, baring his teeth and glaring at him.

“What – what are you doing here?” gasped Jensen.

“What’s all this commotion?” came Sheppard’s raspy voice from behind. He appeared at Jensen’s side the next moment. “What is it, darling?” he asked. “Dear me! Is that a queue to see you?”

Jensen paled to the point of faintness.

“But how come you led me to believe that our arrangement was an exclusive one? Well, well, well! A nasty bit of surprise it is, I declare. What now? Shall I book my appointments hereafter or will you continue to see me at my usual time and day?”

Jensen didn’t speak. He didn’t think he could utter a single word.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Sheppard. “I shall see you then, darling.”

With that he left, chuckling maddeningly to himself.

Jensen stared desperately at Jared. “That’s not… I can explain…” Jensen stretched out his arm towards the other man. “Jared – ”

“Don’t touch me!” snarled Jared, stepping away from him as though he was a leper. Jensen flinched at the hatred in his eyes and let his arm drop. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Jensen’s heart fell to the floor. He could feel it bleed, could hear it shatter, but Jared was speaking again –

“Is this why you decided to stop seeing me?” he hissed. “Is this why you wouldn’t answer my letters when I begged you to?”

Jensen shook his head.

“No – Jared – ”

Jared let out a bark of mirthless laugh.

“But if you were looking for a patron, darling,” he imitated Sheppard’s manner and endearment, “you could have said so. I would have set you up in no time. I have the money, you know. I’m sure I could afford _you_ at the very least.”

Jensen stared at him aghast.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he hissed back.

Jared looked him up and down with a disgusted look on his livid face. “I’m beginning to see that.”

Jensen shook his head.

“Go away, Jared,” he whispered. “Just go.”

“Gladly!”

Jared spat at his feet and stalked off across the room, mindless of their eager audience. Jensen’s knees buckled when he saw Murray smirking at him from the other side.


	24. Chapter 24

Jensen did not remember the journey back home. He did not remember leaving the brothel or getting into the carriage. He saw nothing before his eyes but a disgusted look contorting Jared’s handsome features, the ugly curl of his upper lip as he spewed out the awful words and allegations into his face and spat at his feet. It hurt too much to bear coming from him of all people. Jensen never thought that Jared would ever hurt him in any manner – or that he was capable of doing so in the first place. He was supposed to be good and kind and understanding. He was not supposed to be so hateful. He was not supposed to judge and hate and recoil in disgust at the sight of him. He was not supposed to know!

Jensen shuddered and shut his eyes but the memory remained. He ignored the bath that had been drawn for him and fell into bed. He knew that he had to reinforce that mental shield against further agony and pain that he had been in the habit of putting up ever since his meetings with Sheppard commenced for it allowed him not to think or to feel, rendering his mind blank on good days and foggy on particularly bad ones. Gradually, Jared’s face was suffused by an impenetrable veil of darkness. His words no longer rang in his ears. Jensen did not remember whether sleep claimed him or not but he was dimly aware that he was roused some time later by his uncle who insisted that he should take a bath. Jensen ignored him as well.

Unfortunately, his uncle would not be ignored. He grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him out of bed. Jensen fell to the floor and felt strong arms heave him upwards. They released him a second later with a curse. Jensen staggered, his head began to spin. It took him a moment to realize that his uncle had slapped him again.

“Good Lord, Jensen!” he shouted into his face. “Pull yourself together! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Jensen didn’t move. He didn’t react when Sir Jeffrey began to shake him either. At last his uncle seemed to realize that it was a lost cause. With another oath, he pulled off Jensen’s boots, stripped him off his waistcoat and breeches, tore off his shirt and hauled him into the bath tub. The water had gone cold and Jensen began to shiver uncontrollably. His uncle began to wash him. Jensen didn’t resist the rough treatment, all of his efforts being engaged in fighting off the cold.

Finally, his uncle seemed satisfied and hauled him out of the tub. He wrapped him in a clean sheet, put him into bed and having settled behind him wrapped his arms tightly around him. He was saying something in a soothing whisper into his ear but Jensen neither heard nor cared. He fell asleep still shivering in his uncle’s arms, uncertain whether his face had been wet from the bath or the tears.

Jensen wished his uncle would leave him be. He had had no qualms whatsoever about ignoring him ever since he had set him up at the brothel, acting for all intents and purposes as though the worst kind of betrayal had not been committed under his roof – simply avoiding him most of the time. So why did he insist on pestering him now with his innocuously bland comments and observations? Jensen didn't give a fig as to how long he had stayed in bed. He didn't care for the clemency of the weather. He wasn't hungry or thirsty. He didn't fancy taking an airing in the park. He fancied eternal oblivion. Simply put, he wanted to die. In fact, he felt like his spirit had already left his body the moment Jared walked away from him, disgusted by him, detesting him, thinking so low of him, supposing that he had deliberately sought out a patron for money!

Perhaps, his uncle was afraid that his body would follow his spirit into oblivion too? Jensen could not deny that the thought occurred to him from time to time in the hours that he had spent in his bed staring into space and seeing nothing before him. There was nothing left for him, after all. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to give that hadn’t already been taken. No one to live for. Did his uncle decide to keep an eye on him to make sure that he did not commit something terrible to his self? Did he decide to make sure that his – what was it that he was to him now – an investment – a safeguard – was safe? Well, whatever it was, it mattered not. Perhaps, it was a wise thing to do not to let him spend too much time one on one with his gloomy thoughts for Jensen couldn’t care less.

“We shall be taking a stroll in the park,” announced Sir Jeffrey when Jensen joined him in the hall.

Jensen snorted; suddenly he had a mad urge to laugh and he proceeded to do so without a second thought, much to his uncle’s astonishment, doubling over and falling onto his knees, weakened by the energy that it took.

“Jensen, upon my word, what is the meaning of this deranged conduct of yours?” asked his uncle coldly. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses? I do not remember saying anything so droll as to merit such a reaction. Explain yourself before I take a cane to you.”

Tears rolled down Jensen’s face as he clutched at his stomach. He shook his head, breathing heavily, and tried to get back onto his feet. But he found that he could not get up and was once again manhandled into an upright position by his uncle.

“I beg your pardon, uncle,” said Jensen when he could finally speak without gasping for breath. “I merely remembered that the last time you suggested taking a stroll, I ended up in a molly house, paying off your debt. I found it quite droll. What next? I thought to myself.”

Sir Jeffrey glared at him, impatiently tapping his walking stick against his boot.

“I decided against going on horseback,” he said at last, ignoring his nephew’s previous comment. “I’m afraid that in your delirious state you will end up under the hooves and I am not entirely convinced that you will not welcome such an outcome.”

“Naturally you wouldn’t want that,” drawled Jensen. “No damage to the purchase, right, uncle?”

He winked at him. Sir Jeffrey stared.

“I’m sure I could get away with another slap or two,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure you could.” Jensen stepped up to him, his eyes narrowed. “You seem to have made a habit of doling them out, dear uncle. May I ask why?”

“To teach you a lesson, my dear nephew, of course,” replied Sir Jeffrey.

Jensen’s eyebrows shot upwards. “And what lesson exactly would that be?”

“A lesson in obedience.”

“Obedience?” he asked; then threw his head back and began to laugh in the same crazy manner again. “I have been nothing but obedient!” he spat in his uncle’s face afterwards. “Up until you decided to use my trust and my affection for you and turn me into a whore in order to take your little revenge on my dead father! Did you expect me to become a whore willingly?”

Jensen shook his head and moved even closer so that there was not an inch left between them.

“Jensen, what are you doing?”

Jensen began to tap the polished buttons of his uncle’s greatcoat. “You know, sir, I do not believe that it was my obedience that you were after,” he said slowly, softly. “No, indeed. I remember well how vexed, how angry you became whenever Misha or Jared were around. I think you wanted what Jared had and what you thought Misha had from me. I think you want that too. I think that each time you slap me across the face what you really want is to kiss me – only you can’t, can you? Even you aren’t that depraved.”

Jensen grinned savagely when Sir Jeffrey’s breath hitched. He chuckled darkly, leaning into him, putting his head onto his uncle’s shoulder and whispering into his ear, “Oh, how happy the fact that Jared doesn’t want me anymore must make you feel. Is this why you have decided to take me out for an airing? To enjoy your triumph? To parade me around like a pet dog so that everyone knew who my true master is? Well? Will you cane me in public if I misbehave? Do you have a leash for me? Should I curl at your feet when we return? Would you like me to lick your boots?”

“Jensen – what in devil’s name – ?” croaked Sir Jeffrey.

Jensen abruptly stepped back, his face utterly expressionless. “You look flushed, uncle,” he said coldly. “I believe an airing will do us both good after all.”

They took Sir Jeffrey’s curricle and entered the park along with the other members of polite society. Jensen sneered. He had all but forgotten that such public airings were one of the fashionable things to do during the season. Their appearance attracted a great deal of attention, it seemed, as they were not in the habit of driving in a curricle through the park to see and to be seen. Exclamations of surprise were uttered, greetings were exchanged; invitations to dinners, parties and private balls were issued – with significant looks at Jensen. Jensen wondered if they had already forgotten that he had no fortune to speak of. Perhaps, his uncle’s curricle and his uncle’s patronage convinced harried mothers looking for prospective husbands for their unmarried daughters that he was worth having even without a fortune after all. Jensen shook his head. If only they knew how unworthy he was! If only they knew what he was! How horrified they would be.

However, mothers and daughters were not the only ones who showed interest in his person. Jensen soon became aware of certain elderly gentlemen’s attention fixed unwaveringly upon him. He vaguely recognized some of them as regulars at Rowena’s Place and immediately threw a suspicious look at Sir Jeffrey.

“Tell me, uncle,” he murmured, leaning against him so that there was not a single chance of their being overheard in such a public place; “why are we really here? I do not believe that you care for my health and apparently even my sickly pallor and haughty disinterestedness is not enough to stop all these people from ogling me and forming certain designs upon my person. Pray, are you on the market for a new patron, perhaps? Has Sheppard announced his wish to discontinue your arrangement?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jensen,” bristled Sir Jeffrey. “I do not intend to – to – to – ”

“Yes?”

“It is not indefinite,” he hissed. “There will be no one else after that. I give you my word.”

“Your word?” snorted Jensen. “Do you think your word means anything to me anymore?”

“I wish you would stop thinking that I do not care for you,” replied Sir Jeffrey with a shake of his head. “I do care for you a lot. But I was a fool and I made a horrible mistake. I should never have made that deal in the first place. A day does not go by when I do not regret what I have done. I swear!”

“Oh, spare me your sniveling, old man!”

Jensen turned away in disgust – and gasped.

His eyes fell upon a familiar figure of a tall young man with floppy hair and expansive gestures at some distance from them. He was smiling his wide dimpled smile as he helped his tiny fiancée out of the phaeton. They were laughing when he had almost knocked off her bonnet with his long arms, looking happy together as they took one of the lanes, her arm resting lightly on his. Such a perfect couple they made! Of course, quite unaware of the agony they put Jensen through. His heart barely stirred anymore. Yet he kept watching them, breathing fast and shallow through his nose, until they disappeared out of sight. His eyes were burning. He gasped when he realized that he had bitten through his lower lip.

“I wish to return home,” he muttered.

“Why! Do you not wish to say hello to... Count Dmitri first?” asked his uncle delicately. “He is riding this way.”

Jensen’s countenance instantly changed when he saw his friend approaching them on his horse.

“May we invite him to dinner?” he asked – pleaded.

“I’m sure I do not wish to deny you spending time with your dear friend,” said Sir Jeffrey. “Do not look so surprised, Jensen. I have told you that I care much for you and that your well-being is of utmost importance to me.”

Jensen shook his head in disbelief and grasped Misha’s hand when he pulled up next to their curricle, a look of concern on his face.


	25. Chapter 25

Jensen was ashamed to admit that it had become a bad habit of his to cry on his friend’s shoulder and burden him with his tales of woe of which he had so many of late. He felt like one of those hysterical ladies who always fancied themselves suffering from nerves and indisposition and imposed on everyone around them with their imaginary distempers and disorders. Of course, there was nothing remotely imaginary about his current situation; yet he wondered whether he could have handled it better by pulling himself together of his own accord rather than expecting his friend to devote hours upon hours to bringing him to his senses and talking him out of committing something reckless.

Misha didn’t seem to mind in the least, though; in fact, he scolded him severely for thinking that he was imposing on him in any manner. Jensen continued to believe that it was not quite right to expect him to be there every time he fell apart despite his many assurances to the contrary but found that he was too weak at present not to continue to do so for as long as Misha was ready to indulge him. Thus, upon relating to him what had occurred the previous evening and soaking in his abundant sympathy and comfort, they spent the rest of the afternoon reminiscing about their last trip to Europe, drinking brandy and playing piquet. Misha left with a promise that Jensen should hear from him the following day.

Jensen was therefore surprised when his friend’s note, delivered the next day at breakfast, was addressed to his uncle instead. Perplexed, he watched in agitated silence as Sir Jeffrey, just as bewildered, acquainted himself with its content.

“Well! I must say I commend your friend’s sense of propriety,” he said upon concluding his perusal. “He asks my permission to allow you to spend this afternoon in his company and should I not find it too objectionable also permit you to remain at his place over the night.”

Jensen lifted his eyebrows, waiting for his uncle to proceed.

“I do not see why not,” said Sir Jeffrey at length, carefully folding the note. “You are not expected anywhere tonight. I will order my chaise to take you there.”

Jensen nodded and hurried out of the drawing-room to get ready, a small smile on his face. He had no idea what Misha had planned but he was certain that whatever it was it would be most enjoyable, not the least because his invitation gave him an excellent excuse to leave his uncle’s oppressive house and presence for a while.

“Jensen! I’m glad you could make it!” greeted Misha jovially upon his arrival an hour later, taking his hand and ushering him into the drawing-room.

Jensen chuckled. “My uncle was extremely pleased with your sense of propriety,” he quoted, “in soliciting his permission to have me spend the day with you. I was profoundly grateful to get away from him.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Misha, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. “I thought that might work. I did not wish him to be opposed to the idea and decided that proper show of obsequiousness and deference were in order.”

Jensen narrowed his eyes as he closely studied his friend’s face. “Mish, I know that expression well. That gleam of mischief. You have concocted something, have you not?”

“Indeed, I have. However – ”

All of a sudden Misha grew somber; his eyebrows formed a slight triangle of concern and the expression of his eyes became painfully earnest, which unnerved Jensen to no end. “I’m afraid I have taken a great deal of liberty by concocting the following.”

“The following what? Mish – what are you talking about?”

Jensen let out a mortifying squeak when something large and solid collided with his midriff the very next moment. He would have found himself on his back on the floor had he not been caught by a pair of long, wiry arms.

“J-Jared?” he gasped, instantly recognizing the strong embrace.

He was looking down at the mane of light brown hair, a pair of pleading eyes peeping up at him from beneath the tangled bangs, Jared’s chin pressing sharply into his abdomen.

“I’m sorry, Jensen… I’m so sorry! Do you think you will ever find it in yourself to forgive me for the tremendous pain that I have caused you with my words and doubts and my inexcusable conduct that terrible day?”

Having had all his breath knocked out of him by the collision, Jensen found it hard to breathe, let alone think or talk. He just stared wide-eyed at the man now kneeling before him, feeling the heat on the small of his back from where Jared’s giant hands supported him even through several layers of clothing.

“Count Dmitri talked – well – pretty much knocked sense into me,” said Jared grimly. “He explained everything.”

“E-everything?”

Jensen’s eyes widened and he shot a sharp look in Misha’s direction only to find the latter gone.

Jared nodded and Jensen blinked when he heard him growl, his arms tightening around him.

“I wanted to challenge your uncle to a duel but your friend stopped me,” continued Jared through gritted teeth. He shook his head. “I have been a mighty fool to believe anything that scoundrel Murray had to say on your account. But he accosted me the other day and pleaded with me to allow him back into my life. He told me that he knew things about you that would turn my hair grey. And then he dragged me to that odious place to prove his point, talking and talking and talking all the while about what you really were and that I didn’t know half of it, and when I saw you leaving that room – !” Jared shook his head again, his eyes brimming with tears. “I lost my head, Jensen… I… I couldn’t think straight. It hurt so very much to see you with another – to imagine – to imagine – what you must have been doing there... I felt betrayed, confused, humiliated, crushed! Having poured all of my heart and soul in those letters that I wrote to you half out of my mind, mindless of danger, and then not having heard from you once! – not having my feelings acknowledged in any way – what could I think but that you didn’t want me anymore and that you have been merely toying with me?”

He pressed his face into Jensen’s stomach and squeezed him so hard that whatever air Jensen had managed to get back into his system was forced out again.

Jared looked up at him again.

“Will you elope with me?” he asked Jensen.

“Elope?”

Jensen’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Jared nodded. “Let’s run away, Jensen. Together. I have money. It would be more than enough to purchase a small estate. I have worked on land all my life. I know how to manage it well. How to make it bring profit. I will take care of you. No one will ever hurt you again. No one will ever force you into servitude again. Just… elope with me. Please…”

There was a ringing noise in Jensen’s ears and it was growing louder and louder.

“Jared… I… ”

“Do you love me?”

There was no doubt in his mind!

“I do.”

Jared grinned.

“Will you elope with me then?”

“I… will.” Jensen nodded and grinned too. “Yes, I will. Of course, I will!”

Jared let out a war-like cry, leapt to his feet, grabbed Jensen’s hands and began to spin him around the room.

Their loud and carefree laughter ringing and echoing through the house was the only thing that could be heard for a long while.

Misha had provided them with sustenance and complete privacy, having sent off his servants and having removed himself from the house until further notice. They spent many an hour in each other’s arms, completely naked in front of each other for the very first time, exchanging burning kisses and lingering caresses, leaving not a spot neglected or unexplored by the touch of their fingertips, the graze of their teeth, the teasing of their tongues, rubbing and writhing and pounding and pumping in perfect unison, moaning and whispering each other’s names, tracing and trailing and branding them into their skin, bringing each other to completion with naked cries of ecstasy; then lying and gasping for breath, smiling and kissing again and again, enjoying each other’s bodies at a more leisurely pace, without an immediate need for release...

 


	26. Chapter 26

Jensen listened intently to the voices on the other side of the door as he tucked in his shirt, buttoned his breeches, tied his cravat, pulled on his boots and waistcoat and ignored Sheppard’s lewd commentary on his excellent ‘professional’ performance. Jensen slipped out of the room as soon as the latter had departed and looked about himself: his uncle’s valet was no longer standing sentinel by the door of the room, which could only mean one thing – Jared’s servant had succeeded in luring him out under the false pretext that Sir Jeffrey’s carriage had been attacked and the coachman grievously injured. He and Jared had decided that it would make a most convincing tale, considering the part of the town the brothel was located in.

Jensen sighed in relief at the successful implementation of the first stage of their plan and made his hurried way outside. He was quite thankful that no one was paying him any attention now that he was considered something of an inmate of Rowena’s Place; it was something that bothered him exceedingly in the past but that he could now use to his advantage. Jensen glanced at his pocket watch; he didn’t have much time but he supposed that he had enough to reach the front entrance before his uncle’s valet made his way back, having discovered that he had been duped. However, he would have to traverse the extensive grounds belonging to the place and cover the distance to where his uncle’s carriage usually waited for them before that; the distance was quite considerable for no one should have supposed that Sir Jeffrey frequented such a place.

Jensen smiled when he saw a dappled horse, exactly fitting Jared’s description and left for him by Jared’s servant according to the plan, already waiting for him, blowing puffs of mist into the night, whinnying and pawing the ground, tethered to one of the pillars. Jensen quickly mounted it, patted its neck and murmured a few words of encouragement. Then, spurring it on, he galloped away before his disappearance had been discovered. He and Jared had agreed to meet several miles outside the town along the north road behind the ruins of an old abbey, in a thick grove that would conceal them from view of anyone taking the same road. Jensen soared through the darkness and the cold, pulling on the reins to hurry the obliging mare; there was no doubt in his mind that Jared would be waiting for him at the appointed spot.

How strong was his astonishment therefore when Jared wasn’t there. Jensen alighted, led the horse into the grove, tethered it to one of the trees and set off to explore the thickets. An occasional moonbeam peering from behind reluctantly parted clouds shone light on the ground, revealing that it had been disturbed neither by feet nor hooves. Jensen looked at his watch again. It was just after midnight; Jared was supposed to have been there by now. His astonishment turned into disbelief – then concern. Surely something must have happened to prevent Jared from meeting him there. Jensen had to believe that. It was the only thing that was keeping him from succumbing to utter despair and devastation. Jared was not capable of deceit. He was a good man. He was. He would never do something like that. Never.

Jensen seated himself underneath a tree on a sagging branch, going over their plan, shivering in the cold, his hands and feet turning numb. They were going to travel during the night, not stopping until daybreak at which point they intended to seek shelter at one of the farms scattered about the country, having agreed that it would be more prudent than taking up rooms at an inn, where their appearance would be easily recognized once the report had been spread and the search had begun. They had been discussing it only yesterday, lying in each other’s arms, forming a plan…

Jensen lost track of time. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there. He could not even feel cold anymore. In fact, he could not feel anything anymore. Jared hadn’t come to meet him. Jared had played him. His thoughts had come down to that. He hadn’t moved from the spot once. He had nowhere to go. He could not go back to his uncle’s house and resume his services after having thoroughly convinced himself that he had spent his very last night at the brothel. His uncle would be quite unaware of anything, of course. Jensen had taken with him nothing but that which could be fitted on his person or in the pockets of his overcoat so as not to arouse any suspicions in him. But the thought of going back was unbearable. He would much rather freeze to death. After all, he did not wish to live in the world where Jared was anything but good.

The sky had grown periwinkle but he hadn’t noticed the change until he heard the sound of hooves and wheels echoing in the stillness around him – coming from the road. Jensen rose stiffly to his feet, cringing as he felt the effects of sitting in one attitude in the cold for far too long, and left the sanctuary of the trees, his legs as pliant as two wooden stilts, a glimmer of hope rekindling in his chest. Jared must have decided to take a carriage instead. However, what could have taken him so long? Perhaps, his horse had been rendered lame through some mischief and he had to go back?

Jensen’s heart gave a giant leap when the carriage finally came in sight – only to plummet to the ground when he recognized his uncle’s livery. His vision blurred. His insides felt clogged with ice. Suddenly, everything became quiet – too quiet; it was a woolly sort of quiet and it pressed on his ears as though someone had stuffed them with starched linen. Unfettered darkness was creeping along the edges…

Jensen came to with a gasp and a coughing fit that wracked his whole body. His state of complete disorientation was only slightly relieved by the opaque early morning light slipping through the folds of the heavy curtains flapping back and forth with the movement of – what? His mind was so torpid it worked at an excruciatingly slow pace. It took him a few more moments to register the swaying and the rumbling and realize that it belonged to a carriage. He looked up and flinched when he saw his uncle’s grim features right above him. His head was apparently nested on the man’s lap.

“Drink,” said the latter, thrusting a bottle into his face.

Jensen scrambled to sit up. He took the bottle and made a few long but careful sips that instantly burnt his throat; several seconds later pleasant warmth began to spread through his body. Jensen’s head began to spin.

“Keep drinking. I won’t have you die on me because of your stupidity.”

Jensen slumped against his uncle’s side and brought the bottle to his mouth again. He would gladly drink himself into oblivion.

“Forgive me my excessive curiosity but I simply have to ask,” said Sir Jeffrey after a while. “What exactly did you think was going to happen? Did you really think that he would come? That he would elope with you? That he would choose you? That you would live together away from prying eyes under assumed names in perfect idyll till the end of your natural lives? Dear Lord, it would have been barely probable had one of you been a female. As it is, you would have been lucky not to have been discovered and imprisoned or hanged for such unnatural manner of living among god-fearing Christians.”

Jensen didn’t reply; he felt too sick to speak. He applied himself to the bottle with redoubled force.

“Jensen, I love you, my sweet, stupid boy. But you are damaged goods, you must know that. So pretty but so stupid! He would never have chosen you over his pretty little bride without a pedigree, granted, but with a large fortune her father is furnishing any man to take her for his wife with, an ancestral estate that he is to inherit and a large fortune of his own – that he would never see so much as a farthing of should he have gone through with this ridiculous plan of yours. You are simply not worth it, sweetheart. What exactly would you contribute to the union other than your pretty face and accommodating ass? You have nothing of your own and might I remind you that what money you are to inherit from your mother you will have no access to until after her death.”

Jensen shook his head in denial, his eyes firmly shut against the painful truth of his uncle’s words.

“I hope you understand that things will have to change from now forth. I dare say I have been too soft with you, giving you too much freedom. Well, it is as clear as day that I simply cannot trust you. I will have to supervise your every move, of course. I am not even certain that I can allow you to leave your bed-chamber or contact your friend without committing another stupidity. Jensen, Jensen, Jensen… ” Sir Jeffrey shook his head. “How have you disappointed me, my beautiful boy…”

Jensen let out a sob, drank the last of the whiskey, and curled into himself.

If he had to name the bleakest moment of his life, he would name the moment he knew that he would never see Jared again.


	27. Chapter 27

Sir Jeffrey was as bad as his word and turned from Jensen's benevolent uncle into his hard-hearted warden. Jensen was allowed to take his meals with his uncle and spend a few hours during the day in the drawing-room – but that was as far as his freedom extended these days. Sir Jeffrey would lock Jensen in his room for the night or whenever he was out and accompanied him to his encounters with Sheppard that now took place in the other man's dingy apartment above his money-lending shop. Despite the destination, Jensen enjoyed these rare moments between getting in and out of the carriage for they afforded him the only opportunity to breathe some fresh air.

In such a manner a fortnight had passed since his unfortunate attempt at elopement. Jensen was once again sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in nothing but a white linen shirt, hanging loosely about his thin frame, looking about the place with a vacant expression. Jensen knew that it wasn’t Sheppard’s actual apartment but rather one of many apartments that he rented out.

He knew, in fact, that the man had a house of his own somewhere in Mayfair. He had been taunted about its existence on more than one occasion. From what Jensen understood, he could afford all the houses there. However, in polite society of metropolis money without pedigree or connections could only get you so far. That is why he needed such well-connected man as Jensen’s uncle in his debt to push his way through.

Jensen didn’t so much as start when Sheppard stomped into the room with a candle stub in his pudgy hand. However, he raised a sardonic eyebrow when the man put down the candle and began to pace and rant. He was wont to do so from time to time, perhaps, forgetting that their relationship was nothing more than a business transaction between two morally corrupt men, leaving Jensen with no other option but to lend an unwilling ear.

“They _come_ to me!” he raged. “They _beg_ me for money! They are so _desperate_ they promise me their _firstborn_!” Jensen found it quite comical how high the man’s voice could go during his tirades. “But when the time to pay arrives and I send my men to remind them of their debt and our deal – what do they do? They send them away and accuse _me_ of siccing my bloody _hellhounds_ on them!”

A sound of shattered glass made them both jump. It had come from downstairs.

“What in blazes?” yelped Sheppard, looking at Jensen for possible explanation. Jensen merely shrugged, already supremely unconcerned. What was it to him? “Don’t leave this room!” hissed Sheppard and left it at a funny trot.

Jensen raised an eyebrow and snorted. Why would he even do that? He continued to sit there, half-listening (there was really nothing else to do) to a violent sort of commotion taking place downstairs. Did someone decide to marauder Sheppard’s money-lending shop? Well, he wished them luck then.

Time dragged by. He could hear occasional yelps and thuds – it definitely sounded as though someone was roughing Sheppard up and Jensen could not but rejoice at the knowledge that he was receiving some long overdue retribution for his vileness – when the door to the room he was in opened once again.

Jensen’s eyes widened in shock; then narrowed dangerously in fury. He sprang to his feet, balling his hands into fists.

“What in devil’s name are you doing here, Padalecki?” he snarled, ready to deliver the first blow.

Jared made a wild shushing gesture, flapping his arms like an overexcited albatross, as he attempted to close the door as quietly as he could.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon or something?” said Jensen venomously.

Jared took a deep breath before fixing a pleading look upon him. “Jensen, please, listen to me. I didn’t abandon you back there. I swear I didn’t. You must believe me!”

Jensen raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Jared nodded as he pushed a trembling hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving Jensen’s face.

“Why?” asked Jensen coldly. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because we were betrayed, that’s why! That blasted servant boy of mine betrayed us to Murray!”

“What?”

Jared nodded dismally.

“Turned out the bastard had employed him to watch my every move and report back to him! He was also the one who informed your uncle of our plan. I bet right after he knocked me out cold in a dastardly and dishonest manner unworthy of a gentleman.”

Jared pointed to the side of his head.

“I blame the injury I had sustained at his hands for only wounding rather than killing him during the duel that I subsequently challenged him to.”

Jensen stared at him in shock.

“You fought him?”

“Damn right I did! It was a matter of honour. I couldn’t leave it like that.”

Jared looked so offended that Jensen began to smile before he knew it.

“I’m sure you did not really wish to kill him,” he said.

“I beg to differ,” replied Jared.

“In any case, I’m glad that you didn’t.”

Their gazes locked.

“I’m getting married,” said Jared quietly after a pause.

“I gathered as much.”

“However, one word from you – ”

Jensen shook his head.

“It was a mad notion to begin with – a most delightful dream to be sure – but we cannot continue to deceive ourselves into believing that it would have worked.”

Jared’s shoulders slumped.

“So that’s it then?” he asked despondently. “Resignation? Acceptance? Farewell?”

Jensen smiled and shook his head. He came up to him and took his face into his hands.

“A quarter of an hour ago I was almost convinced, despite my heart telling me otherwise, that you betrayed me,” he said softly. “Now I know that you haven’t and it makes me exceedingly happy. Fortune was once extremely gracious to me. Then it turned rotten. I know now that I am powerless against its permutations but I believe that it stills holds something good in store for me. I am ready to wait.”

He kissed Jared softly on the lips.

“I will take comfort in the knowledge that I am loved by a worthy man who would have given up a lot in order to be with me had I allowed it,” he continued just as softly. “I will find solace in the fact that my heart has not been deceived in you and that my faith in you has been rewarded. However, beggars cannot be choosers. We must take the hand that we are dealt and be content. Do not look at me like that, Jared. I have not gone mad. A tiny bit philosophical, perhaps. I suppose it is bound to happen when one spends too much time in one’s own head.”

Jared shook his head.

“But will that contentment that you speak of suffice?” he asked, looking imploringly at him.

“Suffice?” Jensen kissed him again. “Jared, my love, nothing will ever suffice.”

“Jensen – ”

“You must go now.”

“Can I write to you at least?”

“You most certainly cannot. Nothing gets past my uncle these days. He even checks my correspondence with my sister and mother and I have neither seen nor heard from Misha since...”

Jensen broke off.

“Perhaps, we shall see each other again one day…”

Jared squeezed him tightly in his arms as they shared another kiss.

Perhaps, it was to be their last one.

As soon as Jared was gone, Jensen lay down on the bed, feeling quite serene. He could even feel another smile forming on his lips. It suddenly occurred to him that if he died that very moment, he wouldn’t regret a thing.


	28. Chapter 28

About a week later, Jensen and Sir Jeffrey were sitting at breakfast when the morning post and paper were brought in. Jensen took the paper and proceeded to peruse it while surreptitiously watching his uncle as he began to sort through the letters on the tray. Jensen’s attention faltered and his heart gave a painful jolt when he caught sight of Jared’s name and the accompanying notice that announced his marriage to Miss Cortese. His hands shook slightly and the edges of the paper crumpled before he managed to compose himself. He had known that it was going to happen and yet seeing it printed in paper was still a shock.

He looked up from the announcement just in time to see his uncle’s eyebrows rise in a curious arch at the sight of one of the letters; Jensen instantly knew that it was addressed to him. However, he knew better than to bring forth any queries as his uncle picked it up, opened and began to read. He wished he could see the hand it was written in but his uncle was holding it in such a way that he couldn’t see anything that could assist him in identifying the writer. His uncle’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to consider something carefully as his eyes studied the lines again and again.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said –

“Miss Harris writes that she has arrived in London.”

Jensen’s heart gave a sudden leap of excitement and the expression of his eyes instantly brightened.

“Danneel is here?” he asked, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice. How much had he missed her!

Sir Jeffrey made a humming noise, his eyes still trained on the letter in his hands as he continued to contemplate its content.

“So it would seem,” he muttered. “Apparently, Miss Harris is accompanying her great aunt, a dowager, who expressed a sudden wish to partake of the season. Miss Harris informs you that they intend to pay us a visit this very afternoon for her aunt eagerly wants to meet you.”

Sir Jeffrey was frowning now. Jensen raised his eyebrows. His uncle was understandably unhappy with the prospect of receiving uninvited guests and on such a short notice too for that would severely impose upon his policy of keeping his nephew in complete isolation. Jensen wondered whether he would allow the meeting to take place and waited with bated breath for his verdict.

“Well, I suppose we cannot deny them the chance to meet you,” muttered Sir Jeffrey at long last. “After all, we do not want them to get suspicious and fancy that something untoward is going on.” His uncle gave him a calculating look. “Unless, of course, Miss Harris already knows something…”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “I have not been sending secret messages to Danneel! Besides, wouldn’t you have noticed something, considering that you check all my correspondence?”

“Perhaps, someone on your behalf has contacted her,” suggested Sir Jeffrey.

“Perhaps, you are just being paranoid!” snapped Jensen before he could stop himself.

“Careful now, nephew,” admonished Sir Jeffrey lightly. “Do not get any ideas. That’s all I’m saying.”

Jensen shook his head. “Can I have my letter now?” he asked, feeling nettled. “I trust I am allowed to read a letter addressed to me by a woman I am engaged to?”

Sir Jeffrey extended the letter with a smirk. “Of course.”

Jensen threw away the paper and snatched the letter instead, knowing that it would be a much more gratifying read.

“Judging by the way she writes, she seems to be extremely fond of you,” remarked his uncle. “I wonder, does she know about your unnatural tendencies?”

Jensen rose to his feet with velocity so fierce, he sent the chair he had occupied falling with a deafening clatter to the floor. “I shall be in my room,” he muttered and fled the breakfast-parlour and his uncle’s smug presence with the letter clutched to his chest.

Jensen remained in his room until summoned downstairs by the arrival of their guests. He was quite puzzled by Danneel’s unexpected arrival. In the few letters that they had exchanged, she had not mentioned her intention of coming hither once. However, he didn’t think that his uncle’s suggestion that someone on Jensen’s behalf had contacted her had any grounds whatsoever. After all, appealing to Danneel to come to town so that they could resume their communication was extravagant even for Misha. Nevertheless, whatever was the case, he was extremely happy to have an opportunity to finally see and talk to her again.

Danneel looked magnificent as always in a figure-fitting winter coat of vermilion colour with fur trimming and a fancy hat with lots of frills and feathers. Jensen’s breath got caught in his throat at the sight of her brilliant smile and his face broke into a matching one of his own. His uncle was already talking to her great aunt by the time he had descended, which afforded him some time to take in the fact that he was truly seeing Danneel, standing in person in his uncle’s parlour. Her beautiful face was framed by russet ringlets and the expression of her eyes was warm and animated. Unfortunately, the lustre of her gaze deemed slightly when she took him in.

Jensen could hardly blame her. He knew that he did not look well. He had spent a few minutes studying himself in the mirror before joining them. He had resumed his grooming habits but he had grown thin and gaunt and his complexion had turned greyish due to the fact that he hadn’t had a decent walk in almost a month and hadn’t been riding or boxing even longer. He could tell that Danneel wished to shake his hands as much as he wished to feel her gentle touch upon him but they could not afford to do so in the presence of their chaperons, who, having exchanged greetings and niceties, directed their attention towards them.

Jensen put on a bland smile and bowed when Danneel’s great aunt – a shriveled old lady with a shock of fluffy white hair underneath a frilly cap – pinned him with a lopsided gaze as one of her eyes had been rendered bigger than the other due to a round monocle pressed sharply against it.

“So this is your young man, Danneel,” she croaked rather than spoke the words, eyeing him with a rather mischievous look for someone so old. “I have heard much about your beauty, young man,” she went on matter-of-factly. “I am gratified to see that the reports have not been lying. However, I can clearly see that the separation from my great niece has not been kind to you.”

“No, it has not,” murmured Jensen demurely, lowering his eyes to the floor.

“Well, you are fortunate that it is so!” she said and shook one of her crooked fingers at him. “I intended to give you a piece of my mind for keeping Danneel in the dark as to when you intended to finally take her as your wife but now that I see the evidence of your sufferings I shall not proceed.”

“I was under the impression that their engagement has become secret ever since Miss Harris’s father decided to break it off,” interrupted Sir Jeffrey. “Surely they cannot get married until they get his blessing unless they wish to elope?”

“My nephew is a fool!” announced the elderly lady. “I shall make him see reason. Mark my word! How can anyone force two hearts so much devoted to each other apart and on such paltry grounds as lack of fortune on one side when there is plenty on the other? Poor girl has been quite mad with grief until I promised to take her to London. Observe how ill she looks! Though, between you and me, I should say that she holds herself admirably well.”

Sir Jeffrey raised an eyebrow as he stared at Danneel’s glowing countenance and a rather brazen expression that she was wearing.

“Indeed,” he murmured.

“Upon my word, I am in a rather chatty mood today, am I not? My dear sir, will you be so kind as to show me around your fine house? Let us give the lovebirds a few moments to themselves, shall we?” she added with a roguish wink. “We shall be staying for tea, of course.”

A look of displeasure flashed across Sir Jeffrey’s features before he composed himself, bowed in acknowledgement and ordered tea, sandwiches and cake (if they had any) to be served.

As soon as they were gone, Danneel launched herself in Jensen’s arms. Jensen embraced her heartily but was rather startled by her forwardness when she slipped one delicate hand inside his tailcoat.

“Danneel, what the – ?”

He suddenly felt a small square packet pressed to his chest.

“I received a letter from Misha,” whispered Danneel, looking up at him with worry in her eyes. “He said that your uncle was keeping you a virtual prisoner, not letting you out of the house…”

Jensen tensed upon hearing that.

“He didn’t give me any details,” continued Danneel with a frustrated shake of her head. “However, he told me that he had received a visit from your father’s friend during which the latter stated that he had something of utmost importance to give to you and that he knew not how to approach you without running into your uncle. He did not tell Misha what it was but warned him that under no circumstances should the content get into Lord Morgan’s hands.”

Jensen felt his heart began to beat fast in his chest. Danneel stepped back and he adjusted his tailcoat so that the packet had no chance of escaping.

By the time his uncle and her great aunt returned to the parlour, they were seated next to each other on a loveseat, quite composed, holding hands, apparently engrossed in a murmured conversation like any two lovers would be after a prolonged and torturous separation.

Despite outward appearance of perfect composure, Jensen’s insides were seized with impatience and curiosity. He had no idea what the packet could possibly contain but there was no doubt in his mind that it had something to do with his uncle. Would he, perhaps, learn of the reason behind the feud between him and his father that brought about complete cessation of their relationship? Would he, perhaps, finally learn what it was that he was now paying for?

Jensen never wished to drink tea less and as great as his happiness was at seeing Danneel, the feverish anticipation that he was keeping down was taking its toll on his ability to participate in the conversation. Finally, the ladies departed, extracting a promise from Sir Jeffrey that he and Jensen would return the call at the earliest convenience. Jensen knew that having given the promise his uncle would now have to keep it and was assured in the fact that he would soon see Danneel again.

Part of him wished to rush to his room and rip open the packet in order to put an end to all suspense. However, his common sense told him that it would look most suspicious and these days he would not put it past his uncle to follow him to his room and demand to know what was going on. Therefore, Jensen remained downstairs, the packet burning a hole in his chest. Sir Jeffrey raged about old meddlesome busybodies and perky fiancées for half an hour at least before declaring that he was leaving.

Taking this as his cue, Jensen retreated to his room. A few seconds later it was locked from the other side. Jensen let out a sigh of relief. However, he did not take out the packet until he was completely sure that his uncle had left the house and that his carriage had departed. His hands shaking, Jensen finally unfolded the packet; it contained two freshly written letters and a bunch of old letters tied with a string. The first letter was from Misha and informed him of what Danneel had already told him in person.

The second letter was written by his father's friend who informed him that the letters tied with a string had been in his keeping for many years and that it had been his duty to pass them on to Jensen in the event of his father’s death. Unfortunately, due to ill health he had been spending several years abroad and had been rather out of touch with his English correspondents. However, as soon as he learnt of Mr Ackles’s passing, he returned to England to fulfill his duty.

His words strongly suggested that the letters he was delivering contained information of the most shocking nature concerning Sir Jeffrey and that it was the only thing that kept him from retaliation for the very just means that his elder brother employed against him upon learning the horrible truth about him and stated that he wished Jensen to have them in his possession in case his uncle needed reminding of that which had been done before to keep him in check.

Jensen swallowed hard; with his heart drum-rolling in his chest, he untied the string and opened the first letter; then the second; then the third – until the very last one. With tremendous shock he realized that these were all love letters exchanged between his uncle and another man. The letters were signed with initials only and upon looking at the seal Jensen saw with a jolt that he had seen it before. The problem was that he couldn’t for the life of him recall where and when.


	29. Chapter 29

The days that followed the discovery were agony for Jensen as he continued without success to sift through his memories in hopes of identifying the owner of that particular seal. In his mind’s eye he could clearly see the signet ring with the seal on a man’s hand – he could even see the flecks of sun reflecting off it – but try as he might he could not see the man’s face.

Another thing that did not give him any peace of mind was the knowledge that his father had apparently learnt of his younger brother’s forbidden love affair with another man by coming in possession of their letters and then most likely threatened to expose them to the censure of the world by making the letters public least they desist all communication. In addition, he threw his younger brother out of the house and forbade him to return or to contact him or his family ever again.

From his father’s friend’s letter, Jensen concluded that he was expected and encouraged to keep the letters and do as he wished with them so long as he had the upper hand. However, the thought made him sick to his stomach, especially when he thought about Jared’s letters to him. He knew that he had to burn them – it was, after all, the only rational thing to do – but he simply could not bring himself to destroy the only evidence that what he and Jared had shared had been real.

He could only imagine what his father would say had he discovered them! Sir Jeffrey must have found it most ironic when his elder brother’s son turned out to be just like him.

Jensen did not wish to threaten his uncle – he abhorred the very thought – but he was not such a simpleton as not to understand that these letters were the very leverage that he needed in order to get out of his current predicament. However, he needed to find the other man first! What if he left England? What if he was long since dead? Then these letters were quite void unless he wished to expose and ruin his uncle for good. Jensen did not wish that; even after everything that Sir Jeffrey had put him through, he continued to love him and his first and foremost object was to resolve the situation in a manner that did not involve betraying him, feeling all the severity and the responsibility for his father’s actions.

They were once again sitting opposite each other at the breakfast-table when the post and the paper were brought in. His uncle took hold of the letters and Jensen took the paper. He almost choked on his tea when his eyes fell upon an announcement that Lord Omundson had returned to England and was planning an exhibition of his paintings that he had produced during his prolonged absence. The exhibition was to take place at his manor ere long. Jensen turned rather pink at the thought that a painting of him without any clothes on would have been part of the exhibition had he agreed to have his likeness taken and felt slightly apprehensive that the man could have used some of the sketches that he did take of him in order to create something that would make Jensen blush.

His change of countenance did not go unnoticed by his uncle who looked up from the letters he was reading to inquire what had brought it on.

“Surely Mr Padalecki has not announced a divorce from his wife. It could not have been more than a week since their marriage took place, after all.”

“It is nothing of the sort, uncle, I assure you,” gritted out Jensen, glaring at him. “It appears that Lord Omundson is returned to England and is planning an exhibition of his paintings.”

Sir Jeffrey raised an enquiring eyebrow and put the letter carefully back onto the tray.

“And how would you know Lord Omundson?” he asked coldly. “I believe he left the kingdom when you were still in your swaddling clothes.”

Jensen blushed; then, under his uncle’s unwavering stare, proceeded to tell him of their encounter during his trip to Europe and his subsequent offer to paint him that he refused.

“Hmm…” was all that his uncle replied upon the conclusion of his speech. He was silent for a long time before he spoke again. “I suppose you wish to pay your respects and resume the acquaintance?” he asked.

Jensen was startled to say the least. His uncle had not volunteered to give him leave to pay his respects anywhere in a while. “I would wish that, yes. However, I did not think it possible. I have not been at liberty to leave this house for weeks,” he reminded.

“Nonsense!” scoffed Sir Jeffrey. “You are hardly a prisoner here, Jensen. We can go after breakfast,” he added briskly and took up the letter again.

Jensen could not believe his ears or his good fortune.

“Do you happen to know his lordship well?” he asked curiously.

“We’ve met,” muttered Sir Jeffrey curtly, not lifting his eyes from the letter.

“I’ve heard him called eccentric and that no one knew why he left England.”

“I hope you shall not be so impertinent as to ask him that,” said Sir Jeffrey, flinging the letter aside and rising to his feet. “I shall order the carriage to be drawn.”

He left the room. Jensen stared at his retreating form with a frown.

Later that day they were ushered into Lord Omundson’s magnificent drawing-room. His lordship was extremely happy to see them.

“Lord Morgan!” he exclaimed. “Mr Ackles! Upon my word, how delightful! Come in, come in, my good men!”

He spread his arms in welcome and immediately insisted that they should join him for breakfast ‘al fresco’ prepared for him in the conservatory.

“Alas! ‘Tis too cold on the terrace this time of year in England.” He shook his head. “I have almost forgotten what that is like.”

Jensen saw that he had also adopted a conventional English style of dress. However, his hair was as long and wild as ever and when he put his hands on his arms in that characteristic gesture of his that had imprinted itself on Jensen's memory, Jensen felt the floor move beneath his feet. His eyes fell upon the man’s signet ring and he gasped when he caught sight of the seal etched into its surface.

“Jensen, what is it? Are you unwell?” asked his uncle in concern.

Jensen shook his head, silently cursing himself. “I’m… I’m fine, uncle,” he stuttered. “No need to worry yourself over my well-being. I was overcome by a dizzy spell. That is all.”

“London air does not agree with you, eh?” said Lord Omundson, nodding his head in understanding. “I have not been back an hour I could already feel the immediate ill effects of its foulness upon me.”

He called a servant and ordered a glass of wine for Jensen to be brought in.

“Here, Mr Ackles, you must have a seat.”

If Jensen hadn’t been so shocked by his revelation, he would have resented being treated like some frail damsel who was expected to faint any moment now unless assisted into a chair by a gentleman. Being rescued by all and sundry was getting old. He was not helpless. He could take care of himself! However, he acquiesced on present occasion with a bland smile and took a seat next to the window that had been likewise opened on his account.

“Do not worry about me, Lord Omundson,” he said politely. “I would not wish to inconvenience you any further. I’m sure that my uncle’s company will suffice while you take your breakfast.”

Lord Omundson bowed and moved to take leave; then turned around and, clapping his hands together, said jovially, “But upon the conclusion of my meal, I would very much like to resume our previous conversation! The one on the subject of my taking your likeness.”

Jensen nodded.

“By-the-by,” he said, “when is your exhibition to open? I would very much like to attend it.”

“Next week. I hope you will be among the first to see it.”

Jensen looked inquiringly at Sir Jeffrey. The latter nodded.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Lord Omundson with a wide smile.

The two of them removed themselves from the room soon afterwards. Jensen took a deep breath, reined in his shock and began to form a plan.


	30. Chapter 30

They were to join Danneel and her great aunt that afternoon. Jensen did not expect a large company and was therefore surprised to find himself facing a battery of almost identical old ladies, all looking through their quizzing glasses at him. Jensen gritted his teeth; he had counted on a bit more privacy in order to enlist Danneel’s help.

He had decided to talk to Lord Omundson and make a deal with him that would guarantee his freedom. However, he had only one chance to do so – at the opening of his exhibition that would take place a week from now. Until then he had to hold onto the letters and he was too close to freedom again not to fear that something could go wrong. He had already too many mischances to trust his good fortune now. His uncle could somehow discover the letters in the interim or his room could catch fire.

That’s why he decided return them to Danneel, knowing that they would be much safer with her.

“We need to talk,” he muttered from the corner of his mouth when she appeared at his side. “In private.”

Danneel nodded and upon catching her great aunt’s eye, made a slight motion with her head. Her elderly relative smirked and nodded. Jensen stared between them in utter bemusement just as the level of volume in the room suddenly increased, turning into positive clamour of hundreds of seagulls flying and squawking on the shore, as the other ladies began to circle his uncle as though vultures craving to feast upon his flesh.

“What is going on?” he hissed when Danneel slipped her hand into his and tugged him along and out of the room.

“I must speak with you as well.”

They swiftly walked along the corridor before turning into a smaller parlour. Danneel closed the doors and turned towards him, her face full of determination.

“Jensen – ” she began upon taking a deep breath but he interrupted her with a raised arm.

“Allow me, please. It is of great urgency.”

He produced the letters tied with a string and wrapped in another layer of paper. “I need you to keep these safe for me. My uncle must not get his hands on them.”

Danneel nodded and took the packet. “Give me a moment,” she said and turned away. Jensen turned away too, providing her with additional privacy as she concealed the packet within her dress. “There,” she said after a passage of a few moments, adjusting the bodice of her gown and smiling cheekily at him.

Jensen nodded, relieved.

“Lord Omundson will be holding an exhibition in his house next week,” he said. “I need you to be there and keep my uncle distracted while I talk to the man. Can you call on Misha and ask him to be there as well? Make sure that Sir Jeffrey does not interrupt us. I will explain as much as I can later.”

Danneel nodded again.

Jensen started when he heard the sound of voices and feet moving down the corridor.

“Jensen.” Danneel touched him on the cheek. “I have a confession to make.”

Jensen looked at her startled. “A confession?” He frowned deeply. “What are you – ?”

Danneel shook her head and placed a finger against his lips to hush him.

“We do not have much time.” She indicated the door; the voices beyond were growing louder by the second.

“For what?” demanded Jensen, growing uneasy.

Danneel shook her head, this time in exasperation.

“Jensen, you are too stupidly noble for your own good. I know that you won’t make a move – for whatever reason – but I am too tired of waiting. Therefore, I have decided to take the matters into my own hands.”

True to her words, she grabbed his arms, put them around her waist and pressed herself flush with his body before capturing his lips – just as the door to the room was flung open.

Danneel sprang backwards with a gasp amidst exclamations of shock and covered her face with her hands in what one would assume was utter mortification. Jensen dropped his arms and stood rooted to the spot as words such as “scandal” and “reputation” and “ruined” rang through the house.

“Well! He must marry her now,” pronounced one of the ladies putting down her walking stick. “There is nothing else to be done, I suppose. We all saw what happened, ladies. Scandal!”

“I...” stammered Jensen quite lost for words, not sure what had just happened but feeling guilty none the less.

“Perhaps,” said Sir Jeffrey smoothly, carefully navigating his way into the room so as not to knock any of the old ladies aside, “you shall allow us some privacy. I believe it is a delicate matter that should be resolved within the family.”

He shooed the ladies out despite their vociferous protests and closed the door behind them.

“What is the meaning of this?” he thundered as soon as the four of them were alone in the room. “What in blazes were you thinking?” he seethed, glaring at Jensen.

“Uncle, I swear I....” began Jensen, unsure what he could possibly say in his defence.

“It is quite obvious what the young man here was thinking,” interjected the dowager smugly. “He was thinking precisely what any young man left alone with an attractive young woman is thinking.”

Sir Jeffrey glared at her – then turned his glare upon Danneel, who merely raised an eyebrow.

“I confess I find myself most disappointed in your conduct, Miss Harris. I would expect more self-possession and common sense from a respectable young woman such as yourself.”

“In this case, I am sorry to have disappointed you, my lord,” said Danneel deferentially. “I can only assume that you have never met a respectable young woman on the shelf desperate to get married.” She raised her chin up in show of defiance. “I have come to town with a single purpose – not to leave it without acquiring a husband.”

Sir Jeffrey waved his hand at that. “And this is your way of going about it? I doubt your father will give you his blessing under the circumstances.”

“You must be unaware then that the ladies that you asked to leave just now are the worst gossips in the whole of the kingdom. By tomorrow’s morning there won’t be a household in town that will remain ignorant of the compromising position I was discovered in. My reputation will be in tatters. My name ruined. My father’s hand will be forced.”

Sir Jeffrey fumed but made a mocking bow in her direction. “I see. In this case, I must offer you my congratulations, Miss Harris. Well played.”

He turned his attention back to Jensen, raising a sardonic eyebrow as he asked, “Well, nephew, what about you? Will you marry Miss Harris after the scandalous manner in which you have treated her?”

“I... yes... of course.” Jensen cleared his throat, still feeling dazed at the fact that Danneel had employed the oldest trick in the book to make him act. “If she wants me, that is,” he added as an afterthought.

“It appears that she does,” commented Sir Jeffrey in great vexation. “Well! It has been all quite exciting but I believe we must take our leave now,” he went on. “I would not wish for any other indiscretion to be committed before the wedding takes place. I trust you to keep your ward well in check in the meantime, madam.”

They were in the carriage when Sir Jeffrey spoke again. “Do not think for one moment that it will have any bearing upon your situation, Jensen,” he said coldly.

Jensen raised a challenging eyebrow but didn’t reply, happy that his best shot was out of his uncle’s reach.


	31. Chapter 31

Sir Jeffrey was forced to bow to the demands and pressure of society and allow the marriage to take place so as not to besmirch the lady's honour and brand the gentleman a scoundrel. He also had to allow Danneel's visits, though he insisted that he should be the one to determine where, when and with what frequency they were to take so that they would not interfere with Jensen's other obligations.

Jensen, on his part, faced an important decision that had to be made before that final step was taken and vows exchanged. Despite announcing his readiness and willingness to marry Danneel, he couldn't enter matrimony without revealing the whole truth about himself. Danneel had been his dear friend for many years, ever since her family settled in the neighbourhood, and he could only pray and hope that she would not be disgusted by the revelation.

He was aware that she had taken a great risk when staging the scene at her great aunt's house, placing all her bets on him, and he would hate for her to find herself painted into a corner, forced to enter marriage with a man she could no longer stand. However, Jensen did not wish to conceal from her the fact that though he loved her his heart belonged to another and that in his case "another" was, in fact, a man. Hence, upon her next visit, he sat her down on a couch, pulled up a chair and, taking her hand in his, thus began –

"There is something that I wish to tell you. I'm afraid there are some rather shocking things about me that you are not aware of. I need you to know them so that you know exactly the kind of man you are going to marry. Unless, that is, you shall find what I am about to reveal too awful to reconcile yourself to. In which case, I am ready to relinquish you for good."

"Jensen, do not be ridiculous!" cried Danneel. "I am certain that there is nothing you can possibly reveal about yourself that would make me want to part with you."

Jensen sighed and squeezed her hand in gratitude. "I hope you will still feel the same way after – "

He took a deep breath and told her about Jared and his feelings towards him. Danneel listened; if she was shocked, she did not show it. Upon the conclusion of his speech, Jensen looked up at her and was astonished to see that she was smiling.

"Honestly, Jensen," she said, shaking her head, "I always half-expected you to run away with Misha."

Jensen stared at her in too great a shock to speak. Danneel nodded.

"In fact, when you announced that you were accompanying him on his trip to Europe, it came about so suddenly, I was quite certain that that was it. I must confess I never expected to see you back in England."

Jensen spluttered indignantly. "Danneel! I was already engaged to you at the time! Did you think so very ill of me as to believe me capable of ignoring my duty and dishonouring you in such a fashion?"

Danneel shrugged. "I think that you are the best of man, Jensen, but I also thought that you were in love with your best friend and that you agreed to the engagement so as to conceal your secret relationship with him."

Jensen stood up and began to pace the room, his arms moving restlessly against his sides. "Did you not think that I loved you? Why did you agree to marry me then?" he asked in astonishment and desperation.

"Oh, I know that you do. I never had any doubts. But I also knew – or believed that I knew – that I was not the only one who you loved. Jensen – "

Jensen continued his pacing; now raking his hands through his hair. He started when he felt Danneel's hand on his wrist.

"Look at me," she said softly. He met her eye most reluctantly. "Do not be such a grumpy. I will not be any less fond of you for that."

Jensen snorted but felt the corners of his mouth lift of their own accord. Danneel smiled too but her expression was grave.

"I would not have pursued you with such single-minded determination had I not wished to be your wife,” she said earnestly. “We do not live in the world that gives us many choices or chances. But you must know that you have always been the only man I have ever loved and I am convinced that you will be an excellent husband and a great father. However, I can assure you that I shall never begrudge you the yearnings of your heart. I will always support you. In fact, I hope to meet Jared really soon."

Jensen shook his head. "I'm afraid it is unlikely to happen."

"You cannot deny yourself the hope," reproached Danneel softly.

"On the contrary. I cannot allow it."

He knew that Danneel resided under the impression that his uncle, having somehow or other discovered their secret relationship, forbade them to see each for as long as Jensen stayed under his roof. Jensen did not correct her; nor did he inform her of the other thing.

In Danneel’s frequent visits and occasional airings, closely supervised by Sir Jeffrey, the week passed swiftly and pleasantly enough.

Finally, the day of Lord Omundson's exhibition arrived. Sir Jeffrey, Jensen and Danneel attended it together. Misha was also there. Jensen suppressed a smile when his friend approached them with an extravagant swagger and an easy manner that could not but vex Sir Jeffrey; especially as he refused to leave the man’s side.

The paintings on display were truly magnificent. Jensen wished that he could spend more time admiring them and less time worrying about his plan. As more and more people of fashion crowded the rooms and halls lined with mesmerizing views of voluptuous skies possessing feminine shapes, tempestuous seas, ghostly mountains, fiery volcanoes and occasional sightings of glorious young men dressed as mighty warriors and what looked like their beautiful pleasure slaves – all male – draped over their laps or kneeling at their feet it was easier to put more and more distance between his uncle and himself.

Finally, when he saw that Danneel had engaged Sir Jeffrey in a fierce discussion on the merits of one of the paintings, Jensen slipped from the room in search of their enigmatic host. His attention, however, was instantly drawn to a painting that depicted two young men in a passionate embrace with spectacular carved golden horns erupting from their foreheads and barely a stitch on their bodies. Jensen supposed that by portraying them like some mythical creatures the painter hoped that the subject matter of the painting would be considered less scandalous. Yet the exclamations of shock that echoed across the room suggested otherwise.

"You could have been one of them, you know," said Lord Omundson, coming from behind Jensen unheard, whispering over his shoulder.

Jensen shivered.

"An elfin prince, perhaps? His eyes as green as the forest he lives in – reflection of the forest’s soul. His perfectly-shaped form unclad but for a pair of transparent wings wrapped around him like the finest gossamer. Do let me paint you, Jensen. Such beauty as yours must be preserved for posterity."

Jensen swallowed and turned to face the man.

“I am willing to negotiate,” he said quietly.

Lord Omundson’s face split into a wide smile.

“Indeed?”

Jensen nodded with a jerk of his head.

“However, I would prefer to discuss the terms in private.”

Intrigued, Lord Omundson gestured towards the archway.

“By all means, my dear Mr Ackles! Follow me.”

Jensen followed him out of the room, his heart picking up pace.

“Well, I say! I am aflutter with curiosity,” murmured Lord Omundson as soon as they were ensconced within his study. “What exactly are your terms, Mr Ackles?”

Jensen steeled himself.

“How much of an influence do you have over Lord Morgan, sir?” he asked instead.

The man paled.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jensen made a waving gesture with his hand.

“I am inquiring, you see, for I have recently come in possession of a number of letters whose nature is so scandalous I assume they were responsible for driving you out of the country about ten years ago.”

He raised an eyebrow delicately.

“Ah. I see.”

“How much of an influence do you have over Lord Morgan, sir?” said Jensen again; his voice hard.

Lord Omundson tilted his head to the side.

“I believe enough.”

Jensen smirked.

“Good. I wish you to exercise it. In exchange I am willing to sit for you. Naked.” Jensen took a deep breath. “I shall retain the letters, of course. However, my portrait will be your security. What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

Lord Omundson made a strange noise within his throat and nodded.


	32. Chapter 32

Upon coming up with his desperate plan to appeal to Lord Omundson and ask him to act on his behalf in his negotiations with his uncle, Jensen believed that Lord Omundson was in perfect position to influence Sir Jeffrey due to their past intimacy and the effect their reconciliation after so many years apart would undoubtedly have on him. He believed that the situation could be resolved only by means of his uncle being forced into giving up the estate he had received as part of his deal with Sheppard. However, he was much concerned on account of the latter and whether he would agree to take it back in the first place. From his recent conduct and intimations, Jensen had a disquieting notion that Sheppard expected Jensen to remain a permanent fixture in his life; in unguarded moments following their intimate activities, he had begun to allude to the times when Jensen would finally become an inmate of his house in Mayfair.

Jensen supposed that money, favours or some form of power could be exchanged in order to make Sheppard relinquish his hold on him. After all, Jensen didn’t believe that his fits of sentimental effusions were anything but the after-effects of his triumph over him. The man craved power and would kill for a slice of it; he wanted to have his finger in every pie and a promise of that would be a recompense enough; perhaps, a post in some high place, a presentation at court, or a knighthood could very well sway him in the right direction. Moreover, Jensen had since learnt from Danneel who learnt it from other sources – for the man was much talked about these days – that Lord Omundson was a very powerful man and had a lot of influence. Jensen imagined that dealing with a power-hungry pompous prick like Sheppard was probably as simple as squashing a bug for him. At least, he chose to believe that most ardently.

His hopes were indeed answered. Within a few days after their conversation, Sir Jeffrey entered Jensen’s room and deposited a stack of official-looking papers onto his lap. Jensen raised an enquiring eyebrow at him.

“These papers name you the only rightful owner of the estate. It is all yours now,” his uncle explained.

He turned to leave but stopped halfway across the room and without fully turning around added, “You are no longer required to attend Mr Sheppard.”

He resumed his retreat when Jensen called him back. “Lord Omundson is a very powerful man, is he not?” he asked.

Sir Jeffrey grunted in reply.

“But then why did he leave all those years back? Why did he not attempt to exercise his power over my father?”

Sir Jeffrey turned around this time, keeping his hand firmly on the door-handle. His face was contorted by anger. “Why don’t you ask him that?” he spat. “I hear you agreed to sit for him. I dare say it will provide you with ample opportunity to delve into whys and wherefores of his actions.”

Jensen wondered what it could mean. Sir Jeffrey was on the other side of the door when he turned towards him once again.

“I shall be leaving the country for a while.” He paused. “An old friend of mine has a villa on the lake in Switzerland. He graciously invited me to stay there with him. I accepted.”

Well, perhaps, they had resolved their issues after all, thought Jensen to himself. He looked after his uncle long after he was gone, a sensation of profound regret squeezing his chest. He missed his favourite uncle. He missed the uncle he loved and could trust. He missed the uncle who loved him and helped him. He missed the uncle who didn’t sell his ass in order to take petty revenge on a dead man.

He dropped his gaze and looked at the papers in his lap. He was in awe. He dared not believe it! He was a free man once again – and he had an estate!

Mr Harris had purchased a special marriage license for them in the course of a fortnight, which allowed Jensen and Danneel to get married in London. Right after the ceremony they left town to take possession of their home. Mr Harris – by way of extending an olive branch to his son-in-law – introduced Jensen to Mr Beaver, recommending him as an excellent steward, who would help him bring his estate to profit in no time. Jensen was extremely grateful for that and vowed that he would not allow it to fall into ruin ever again.

Having settled down in their new house, they set off to pay their respects to their neighbours in the adjoining parish. Jensen was barely containing his trepidation at the thought of seeing Jared again.

They had barely stepped into the hall when Jensen was lifted off his feet and crushed against Jared’s solid chest. He laughed giddily, mindless of the shocked gasp of “Jared!” instantly issuing from his wife’s lips.

“So you are come at last!” exclaimed Jared when he had put Jensen down.

“So I have,” gasped Jensen, holding onto his arms for support as he worked on getting his breath and bearings back.

Jared wouldn’t look away from him; would barely allow himself to blink as though afraid that Jensen would disappear if he did.

“Lord! I could not believe it when I received your letter. So you are the master of the estate and we are neighbours!”

Jensen nodded; his smile as bright as the sun.

There came a delicate coughing noise from behind and they both turned around to face Danneel.

“Good God!’ cried Jensen. “Jared, allow me to introduce you to my wife."

Jared looked instantly wary. He drew himself up and looked uncharacteristically stiff as he bowed and said, “Mrs Ackles. My pleasure.”

Danneel’s eyes danced as she beamed at him. “Danneel, please,” she admonished, surprising him by extending her hands for him to take. “I hope you will give me leave to call you Jared. Jensen has told me so much about you. I am happy to finally make your acquaintance.”

A significant look passed between them.

Jared grinned and shook her hands. “Oh, likewise, I am sure, Danneel!”

“And this must be your lovely wife,” said the lady next, directing her attention to a small dark-haired woman in a cap.

Jared nodded.

“This is Genevieve.”

“What a pretty name.”

Genevieve simpered.

“Tell me, Genevieve,” said Danneel, looping her arm with hers, “will you be so very kind as to show me around while our husbands catch up? I am sure we shall find it all monstrously boring.”

Genevieve looked slightly confused by the whole scene but smiled and nodded before letting Danneel lead her away.

As soon as they were gone, Jared dismissed the servants and grabbing handfuls of Jensen proceeded to kiss him senseless.

“Jared!” gasped Jensen. “Jared – ”

“Don’t tell me to stop,” murmured Jared into his mouth. “Don’t.”

“It is most imprudent,” persisted Jensen in between curling his tongue around the other man’s and sucking on it. “We shall be seen...”

“Then we will have to make sure that this is the last thing that they see. It probably will be, come to think of it. Surely they will die of shock?”

“This is not funny, Jared,” berated Jensen but belied his words by sneaking his hands into the other man’s hair and deepening the kiss.

They did eventually run out of breath and were forced to slow down and simply hold onto each other.

“I cannot wait to get you all to myself. The things I shall do to you then...” murmured Jared, breathing heavily; he was rubbing Jensen’s neck with his thumbs and peppering the top of his head with kisses.

“But wait we must,” reminded him Jensen softly, smiling despite the regrettable truth of the fact, his head lying on Jared’s shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I have missed you,” he confessed in a whisper. “But everything is at an end at last and I am here with you.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “It was but a nightmare I shall soon forget...”

Jared wrapped his arms tightly around him. “I will make sure that you do,” he vowed. “I would think of you all the time... I... might have written a sonnet... or two... or three...”

Jensen lifted his head and was now looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

Jared looked abashed.

“Er – you know – maybe a dozen? Don’t you dare laugh at me!" he threatened.

Jensen placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I would never!” he claimed and promptly collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"Jared – no! Stop! Put me down!" vociferated Jensen when Jared, using the fact that he had been distracted laughing at him, grabbed him, threw him over his shoulder and carried him across the hall and into the drawing-room. "Good God; you are a barbarian," muttered Jensen, shaking his head.

"I should punish you for that," said Jared, his eyes narrowed, as he deposited Jensen onto the couch and now stood towering over him.

Jensen tried to take a more dignified position rather than the one he was presenting now – looking for all intents and purposes like a startled cat with his hair sticking out in all directions and his limbs waving desperately in the air.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed out. "I shall never laugh at your literary ebullitions inspired by my person again. Now stop behaving like a giant brute and come here. I shall endeavour to make it up to you."

He stretched out his arms and Jared promptly fell on top of him.

"Lord!" choked out Jensen, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Gradually, he accommodated Jared's long form between his legs and wrapped them around his waist before stroking a hand through his hair, the other running up and down his back. "What are they about?" he asked curiously. "Will you read them to me?"

Jared looked up from where he had buried his head in the crook of his neck and gave him a look. "I do not think you quite deserve that," he said smugly, wagging his eyebrows.

Jensen harrumphed. Jared laughed; then shook his head, his expression growing serious. “I was afraid I would forget the line of your jaw, the shape of your lips, the green of your eyes, the pattern of your freckles... I had nothing but my memories to depend upon. I wanted to make sure that they would not fade with time should I never see you again..."

They shared another long kiss before a sound of approaching voices forced them to draw apart and arrange themselves into a more proper seating position just as the ladies entered the room.

"Tea, I think," said Genevieve, ringing the bell. "Jared, dear," she addressed him next, frowning slightly at their seating arrangement and somewhat reluctantly taking a seat on the couch opposite where Danneel had patted the space next to her, "I'm afraid we must do something about the servants. They completely ignore their posts. I saw no sign of any of them coming here. I do not know why we keep them at all when they do not do their duty properly."

Danneel raised an eyebrow; Jensen could tell that she was struggling to contain a grin.

"I do not see what the big deal is," replied Jared. "I dismissed them myself."

"Dismissed them yourself!” Genevieve looked shocked. “Pray, why?"

"Why? Well, as far as I could tell the only duty they were discharging was either imitating or supporting the walls and the pillars about the place."

"But that is what they are supposed to be doing, Jared!"

Jared scratched the back of his head. "Well, I don't see why we need so many in the first place. My parents never bothered with so many. Besides which, I do not like to observe all these ridiculous ceremonies in my own house."

"I am beginning to see that," she mumbled in a miffed voice, disapprovingly eyeing the manner in which Jared had successfully eliminated any previously existing distance between himself and Jensen.

"Surely you did not marry me so that you could order the servants about?" he asked.

Genevieve laughed. "Don't be so silly! Oh. Tea's here! Finally," she said before scolding the maid who had brought it in. "Clumsy girl, look where you put that tray. Oh, give me that! You may go. Go!"

"What of your parents? Where are they now?" asked Jensen while the ladies served tea and cake.

"They have decided to travel," replied Jared, putting his arm on the back of the couch so that it cushioned the back of Jensen's head. "My sister is accompanying them."

Later, after they had taken their tea, Jared's head somehow or other ended up on Jensen's lap, who was slowly carding his fingers through his hair. Genevieve was watching them with a frown that had deepened dramatically when slightly earlier upon her telling Danneel that she would very much like to get herself a pug, because it was such a fashionable thing to do, Jared instantly began to jump on the couch on all fours, demanding Jensen to feed him by nudging his hand with his nose, lap up tea from his cup and wag his behind as though he had sprouted a tail. Genevieve's temper gave way when he began to imitate barking.

"Jared, upon my word, you are giving me a headache with this insufferable racket," she complained, clutching her temples with affectation.

Jensen couldn't help remarking, "In this case I would advise you to think twice before acquiring a dog. It is my understanding that they bark."

Jared howled with laughter.

“Jared,” rang out Danneel’s voice, holding a definite note of admonishment that instantly sobered him up; “Genevieve has been telling me that you have decided to conduct certain repairs about the house and that you are planning to introduce some modern amenities.”

Jared shrugged. “It was her idea to begin with. Genevieve said that she found the house too draughty and its interior design not at all to her liking. She thinks it woefully out of style. Well, I thought I might as well have an indoor toilet and a plumbing system installed amongst other renovations. I dare say I care more for comfort than frippery. But then she started complaining about a moaning sound that she kept hearing at night and got it into her head that it was a ghost. So we started searching for the source of the sound and found a trapdoor apparently leading to a series of tunnels under the ground.”

Jensen’s interest was instantly piqued. “I imagine your house was built on the site of an old abbey, was it not?” he asked.

Jared nodded.

“Can you tell me more about these tunnels? How deep underground do they go? How far do they stretch? What direction do they lead to?”

“I hardly know myself. The entrance is completely caved in. We have barely started digging. I found a bunch of old plans in the library, though. Do you fancy looking at them?”

Jensen eagerly nodded. “I do indeed!”

“Ha!” Jared sprang to his feet and clapped his hands together. “Follow me then.”

Without further delay they went to the library. There Jensen carefully studied the plans, a wide smile slowly breaking across his face.

“Jared,” he said in awe a quarter of an hour later, “unless I am very much mistaken, this tunnel here – ” he tapped it with his index finger “ – leads to a very similar one under my house…”

*

It was a fine mellow day in early spring. Jensen and Danneel decided to send the carriage home and instead take a walk through the country just now reawakening from a long winter slumber.

“I like Jared,” said Danneel cheerfully, looping her arm with Jensen’s as they proceeded down an uneven country lane. “However, I pity _her_ with all my heart. _She_ has no idea what she’s got herself into, poor ignorant child.”

That gave Jensen a pause. “Do you?” he asked gravely. “I mean to say – ”

“I know what you mean to say, Jensen,” said Danneel softly, patting his forearm with her gloved hand. “You are once again wondering whether I might regret becoming your wife one day. I am no prophet, of course, but my answer hasn’t changed in the fortnight that we have been married. In fact, I cannot imagine ever regretting marrying a man I love, admire and respect. A man who loves, admires and respects me in return. A man who has always been my comfort and support. A man who will never hurt or abuse me. A man who I trust with my life. A man whose children I will bear and raise one day, cultivating within them the same ideals of love, support, tolerance and understanding that we both share. A man who will never deny me the freedom to do as I see fit, allowing me to be governed by my own sense and feelings. How many married women can be just as confident in their choice of a partner? I am a fortunate woman indeed. However, I’m afraid that I will have my hands quite full with Mrs Jared Padalecki. In the course of our short walk I found her quite narrow-minded and empty-headed. Her two main concerns are fashion and playing mistress of the house. Her low birth, naturally, has left its unsavoury mark upon her notions. She has no refinement, taste or dignity. But! I am not without hope that I can make something of her.” She smirked knowingly. “I can also contrive with reasonable frequency to keep her out of your and Jared’s way.”

Jensen bestowed the fondest of smiles upon her.

“I do not know what I would do without you.”

“La! No, indeed!”

Jensen shook his head in amusement.

“How quick-thinking you were when inviting them to stay with us for the duration of the repairs! I swear it would never have occurred to me to jump in with the suggestion myself until it would have been too late; and then how clever you managed to manipulate Genevieve into accepting the invitation despite her initial reluctance.”

Danneel sniffed. “I dare say someone has to teach her that being a proper mistress of the house is much more than merely having twice as many servants as one’s householdneeds and scolding them like a fishmonger’s wife in the presence of your guests,” she said, loftily snatching the hem of her vermilion walking dress from within the brambles.


	33. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! The final part. Thank you very much for reading and commenting. I hope you enjoyed it. I know that at least a few people did, so that's something ;)

Jensen was not quite so sentimental as to compare the improvement of one’s affairs with the improvement in the weather and road conditions and believe that the two had influenced the former in some mysterious manner. However, he could not deny that in the months following his return to the country his general affairs, his mood and the weather had greatly improved as though by mutual agreement. Of course, the improvement of his affairs and his mood could well be attributed to his being a land-owner once again and running his own life. The propitious weather conditions could be the result of an exceptionally warm spring.

Jensen was surrounded by his close friends and family, or, at the very least that part of it that he had no quarrel with; his sister having left her school and joined them shortly afterwards. Jensen was quite busy with the affairs of the estate, learning the difference between arable and grass land, how much livestock and timber his estate could produce and at what price it could be sold, leaving the discharge of domestic duties to Danneel, who also took it upon herself to educate both Mackenzie and Genevieve in ways how to manage a large household and to exercise economy without either going into debt or gaining a reputation of a miser.

Jared was always by Jensen’s side; each morning after breakfast they would set off on horseback to overview the grounds, woods, ponds, pastures and plantations in order to see how everything was coming along and what other improvements could be provided in order to attract more tenants, farmers and labourers to take up residence there. Jensen wholeheartedly supported the idea of attaching land to cottages so that the poor could keep their own cow and gardens and immediately introduced the practice on his estate. He was therefore not without hope that his future children would inherit a prosperous and profitable estate yet.

Afterwards they would cross the country separating their two estates to supervise and check the repairs taking place at Jared’s house. On this particular occasion they were accompanied by Misha who had joined them that morning with intention of remaining for as long as they would have him.

“I hear that the living and the rectory at your parish remain untaken,” said Misha.

“Why, Misha, are you interested in taking them?” asked Jensen in jest as Jared chuckled next to him; the three of them were riding abreast down a wide road.

“Indeed,” replied Misha calmly, ignoring their amusement. “I have been contemplating going into orders for some time now. Not to mention that someone has to stay close by to look after you.”

“I hardly need looking after,” grumbled Jensen.

Jared snorted.

“Danneel has been doing a great job so far,” he pointed out.

“For your information, young Jared,” interjected Misha, “Danneel and I have been sharing this sacred duty for many years and I do not see why it should change now.”

“What about me? I can take care of Jensen as well as anyone!” said Jared, thrusting out his chest importantly.

Misha gave him a look of unalloyed mockery. “From what I’ve been hearing you can barely take care of yourself,” he said, throwing a swift look at Jensen.

Jared rounded on him.

“Have you been gossiping with your sarcastic friend about me behind my back?” he demanded.

Jensen shrugged his shoulders, one eyebrow raised.

“Misha finds my recounting of your antics and eccentrics most amusing when delivered in written form,” he said airily. “He even suggested that I should offer some of them for publication in _Gentleman’s Magazine_. He also suggested a name but I forgot now what it was. I distinctly remember that a moose was somehow involved.”

“What?!”

Jensen shrugged again with supreme unconcern.

“So... what about that living, Jensen?” prompted Misha. “I know it is in your gift. Can I count on it once I am ordained?”

Jensen stopped his horse and peered at his friend who had likewise pulled on the reins, made a turn and was now facing him.

“You are in earnest, are you not?” asked Jensen with a slight frown.

“Indeed, I am. However, if you have a better candidate on your mind… I shall immediately withdraw my candidacy.”

Jensen shook his head and touched his friend’s arm. His expression was grave and heartfelt. “Mish, do you really think that after everything you’ve done for me I shall deny you anything?” he asked. “I owe you my life, my freedom, my felicity. I do not know what would have become of me if you hadn’t interfered when you did. I will never repay the debt that I owe you as long as I live. So if it is the living and the rectory that you want – if that is truly what you want – then they are yours for as long as you want them.”

Misha nodded and smiled, deeply touched by his friend’s words.

They covered the rest of the way in companionable silence.

“So what were you saying about some secret underground passages that you uncovered?” asked Misha when they alighted in front of an old sprawling manor house with turrets and outbuildings that looked like they dated back to different eras and despised proximity to each other so much that preferred to maintain a certain distance apart.

“The passages form a complicated series of tunnels,” replied Jensen. “According to the old building plans they are supposed to be connected beneath our houses. Jared and I are hoping that we can transform them into a secret underground bunker of sorts, which will allow us to meet without leaving our respective houses and raising any suspicions.”

Misha looked impressed, his mouth slightly open.

Jared nodded, putting his hand on Jensen’s back. “My men have finally succeeded in digging through the cave-in beneath my house so we can finally see what we are dealing with and whether we can proceed with the construction without attracting too much attention to it.”

“But what are you going to tell when someone asks what you are doing?” inquired Misha.

Jared smirked. “I will tell them that I am working on making it thoroughly soundproof because my wife still believes that it is haunted and I have not yet succeeded in persuading her out of her conviction that it is inhabited by ghosts.”

Upon entering the house, they began by checking the rooms that were under repairs and having found everything to their satisfaction – that is to say, they confirmed that the repairs were moving at an extremely slow pace and that there were still great many things that had to be done before the rooms could be considered habitable – walked down a long sloping passage that brought them to an old spiral staircase that led them to a low-ceilinged basement from whence they ascended the trapdoor and found themselves in total darkness, surrounded by smell of damp earth, crumbled stone and dust.

The three of them lit the torches they had brought along and looked around in awe. They were standing in a large cavernous hall whose floor was littered with debris and –

“Are these human bones?” whispered Misha. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

Jensen and Jared took a closer look.

“I think there must have been cells here before the cave-in destroyed them,” said Jensen. “The monks must have been living or hiding here.”

“Or were incarcerated against their will,” suggested Jared. “Do you think it was the destruction that killed them in the end?” he asked.

“I’m afraid we will never know that,” replied Jensen. “They could have starved themselves to death or met a violent end long before the fall.”

“Well, at least now you can take the bones to your wife and assure her that there are no ghosts down here,” said Misha.

“Lord! Do you wish to drive my wife straight to Bedlam?” cried Jared.

Misha smirked. “I hear you are doing that just fine on your own. However,” he continued before Jared had a chance to reply, “I believe that it is a better alternative to letting her believe that there is a host of friendly ghosts residing beneath her house, forever tethered to their natural life by their sad remains.”

“But what if we torch them?” asked Jensen. “What if we torch the bones?” He turned to look at Jared. “Will that suffice to convince her that there is no one here anymore? Neither skeletons nor their restless sprits?”

Jared’s eyes lit up. “You mean if she sees them going up in flames… ” Jensen nodded. “That might in fact put her mind finally at ease and then she will not question the necessity to proceed with the repairs!”

“Naturally! For she will not wish any more spirits to get in or out,” offered Jensen with a smirk.

Misha shook his head with an addition of an exasperated eye roll. “I have said it before and I will say it again – you are so ridiculous you must have been made for each other.”

“I do not find that it is such a bad thing, Mish,” murmured Jensen, looking softly at Jared.

“Nor do I, I am sure,” said Jared, wrapping his arm securely around him.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This is a J2 AU fic set in Regency England, which means that it is a relatively slow-paced piece and there are lots of rules and regulations pertaining to the society of that time (1811-1820) that I had to observe while writing it - at least, to a certain extent ;)
> 
> Every story needs a villain or two. Therefore, some of the characters in this fic had to don the unflattering part. However, it should not infer that I consider them as such in real life. 
> 
> I would very much love to hear what you think! Do you like it? Hate it? I cannot begin to tell you how vital your feedback is.


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